


and now a piece of me is a piece of the beach

by TroubledPro



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, Crossdressing, Fingering, M/M, Rimming, and more heh, barista!louis, lap dance, metaphors galore, minor character death: spider, setting: beach, surfer!harry, this is a one shot i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 85,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubledPro/pseuds/TroubledPro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entrancing. Mesmerising. Unique. Exciting. Adventurous. Fascinating. Unpredictable. Whirlwind. Rush. Beautiful.</p><p>Harry is still not sure whether he is describing the sea or Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so hello. this was only supposed to be a 15k fic, but then somehow it developed into 85k and here we are. it took me about two and a half months to finish, and it’s been a bit of a beast for my beta so that’s why it has taken a while to be posted. i’m actually really proud of this fic, i’ve always wanted to write surfer!harry because i love the beach and surfing and stuff so it’s been lovely to write, and i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i loved writing it.
> 
> thank you so so so much to Noel (@uhh_noel) for being my rock throughout this and helping me plan it, giving me ideas and different perspectives, and ultimately beta’ing it. ily, gorgeous.
> 
> i’m going to apologise in advance for the thousands of metaphors, the added relationship (you’ll know what i mean when you get to it – i’m sorry, they’re both my favourites and i couldn’t help myself), and probably slow progression (i haven’t actually read it all through at once oops).
> 
> i really really really hope that you guys like this. i’m kind of nervous about the reaction because this has been my baby for a while, so comments/kudos will be highly appreciated. thank you for reading!
> 
> tumblr/twitter: troubledpro.

Entrancing. Mesmerising. Unique. Exciting. Adventurous. Fascinating. Unpredictable. Whirlwind. Rush. Beautiful.

Ask Harry Styles to name the first ten words which come into his mind when he sees the sea and those will be his chosen ten.

-|-

The wind's claws dug into the pinked, raw, exposed flesh of Harry's body. The blood in his hands rose to his skin, veins plump and cells red. The soles of his feet were being ripped apart with every step he took. With every dig of his heel in the grainy sand came that biting pleasure that Harry craved every second of the day. If he twisted a tad, he could feel the scratch tingle all the way up his body, curling around his ear and settling in a content ball by his temple. His hair was everywhere, whipping back and forth with each gust of wind that blew through the sky's lips. He was the definition of dishevelled and windswept, but the sea would not judge.

The sea was the kindest object of the world, Harry liked to think. It was always watching, yes, but never judging. It looked out with ever-changing blue eyes, sometimes soft, sometimes harsh. It could be flat when it fancied, slow and chilled. But it could be fierce, too. It could be wild, restless, and downright thrilling. The waves could crash with such force that you could be knocked over in one fell swoop. But they could also just pool around you, hugging your knees like a child wanting comfort. Either personality that the sea decided to portray that day would be a great comfort in itself. Whether it be gentle or brutal, it would never leave.

Most things in life leave. Practically everything does. People leave, walk away, forget, die. Things leave, get lost, get forgotten, decompose. But the sea, no, that always stays. Waves wash in and out, make their grand entrance in crashes and bounds; but they always come back. You look outside the window; the cars whizz down the road in a flash. Each person takes no notice as they step into your life for a second and then catapult out the next. But if you look outside the other window, the sea will still be there.

The comforting lapping of the water or the mind-washing sound of the rolling waves will never leave. And that is why Harry Styles never left.

If he took so much comfort and depended on the sea enough to treasure the fact that it never left, then surely he had to give something in return? That was what he thought when he was only a young boy who had only been on the earth a mere eight years. From the moment he had figured out that, yeah, this sea thing is pretty special, he had let it wiggle its way into the depths of his heart. His heart had not been filled with much back then (an amount worryingly similar to now), but the sea had buried itself in there with no intention of ever slipping away. He had vowed to never forget it, and to never let it feel forgotten.

Harry may have seemed mad to treat the sea like it were an actual being, he was fully aware of that, but the only one to know that was the sea itself and, well, it seemed to appreciate his intentions well enough. Or, at least, Harry pretended that it did, anyway. He talked to it, released his secrets into the cold rushing water, just as he would a person. He played with it, had the time of his life skimming the waves. He took comfort from it, watching and listening and being in its presence. He made the biggest decisions of his life with it, the waves whispering words of encouragement into his ears. In his eyes, the sea would always and forever be the one he would go to for support. It was the thing he trusted the most, and that would never change.

So there Harry was, padding his way through the battling elements to make his way down to the sea front. The salty smell of the water was overwhelming to his senses, invading his previously racing mind and dulling it to a chilled-out meander. He could feel the smell curling around his nostrils and making home in the crooks and crevices of his nose. Breathing in deeply, Harry let out a content sigh as the cold air washed through his system and the sense of being home returned well and full.

The wind spiked his eyes between every rapid blink he took, causing a wet film to form to protect the jade abyss. As he neared the edge, the temperature dropping even more, Harry could not help but let a small smile tug at his lips. Again, he probably looked a little on the crazy side as he smiled to himself, but as he placed his surfboard down onto the hard-packed sand and attached the strap around his ankle, he finally felt content inside for the first time that day.

With the Velcro fastened tightly and that comforting itch of the material around his exposed ankle, Harry picked up the board again and made his way into the water. The freezing water of the North Sea bit at his toes fiercely but the numb that settled over them came just in time. The feeling of the water swishing around his legs as he surged deeper and deeper into the restless sea was his version of an intense Swedish massage: the ultimate relaxation.

Harry swam further out into the sea, revelling in all the bitter glory that it held, until he was just out far enough. Judging the biggest wave to arrive after the next, Harry set his board in position and jumped up onto it. As the crashing wave approached, he timed it perfectly so that the board travelled on the crest of the wave and he was able to balance flawlessly. He rode the wave with his usual perfection, concentrating on keeping it going until the water wore thin and his weight could no longer be held.

Whenever Harry struck a good wave on his first try, he always felt a surge of triumphant success. There was not much reasoning behind why; after all, he was a bloody good surfer and the chance of that happening was pretty likely. But it gave him that little push to try even harder, to do even better. Nobody was there to watch him strike the second, third, fourth, fifth or even tenth good wave, but then again, nobody ever was.

Harry could spend hours with just the sea as his company. He could never class himself as being totally alone when he was surfing because the sea was just as good a friend as his others, even more so. So that was what he did. He treaded in the shallow waters for a while, kicking the salted sea randomly. He surfed a little more, tirelessly wearing himself out. And then, once his breath started to get a little shallower and his chest constricted that tad too much, he sat on his board and looked out at the sun and horizon doing their evening dance.

Waves crashing and trickling water were the sounds that surrounded him. Nobody else was at sea and the specks of people dotting the golden sand were too far away to cause much disturbance. The sea had tired itself out and was much calmer than before, only bumps jumping Harry's board. A hum started sounding through Harry's red-raw lips. It broke the, kind of, silence that wrapped around Harry's matted hair like a bandage, but was not unwelcomed. It did not cause any form of massive disruption, not a whirlpool whipping around or a tsunami drowning out the quiet noise which ruined the serenity. Harry liked having that power. He liked being able to be the only real noise in his tranquil little bubble. Having the power to be the instigator of the only noise gave him a thrill that nothing else could. Stupid it may have been, pathetic and petty, too, but he could not find it in him to care. It was the little things which meant most to him, evidently.

It was all very slow. Harry's life was very slow. But he did not think he would be able to cope with the rapidity of city life anymore, or even just being in someone else's life. There was not anything wrong with him, he was perfectly normal, he just had to get away from the type of people the city held. They were too fast, too pressurising. They always wanted something but never gave anything back. Time was of the essence for those people, but for Harry, a second could be an hour for all he cared. A few years ago, he had vowed that he would never let anyone else control his life (not including the sea, of course). He would be the most important thing in his life, not anyone else.

But now, now things were different. Whenever Harry glanced out from the depths of the sea into the rolling sands of the beach, a sense of longing pulled the strings of his heart. He craved that affection that he saw a mother giving their child, or the kisses the boy was giving his girlfriend. He was not desperate for love and attention, but it felt like something was missing. He had the sea; he had his friends; he had himself. But it did not all fit into place like he had expected those few years ago. No, something was not right, and he, in that moment, made a bid to find that missing piece, but let it slot in as it wished.

-|-

The wind rattled the windows and shook the metal of the van warningly. Harry tossed and turned under the sheets, skin prickling with sweat and hair plastered to his forehead. He kicked the sheets from his body and stretched out on the small bed, curling his toes and pulling his muscles. He groaned in annoyance as his alert mind continued to reel with thousands of random thoughts and the weather continued to worsen outside. Every gust of wind or drop of rain was exaggerated by the thinness of Harry's home, or more like car.

The problem was that Harry refused to live anywhere else. He had had offers from his mates to let him kip on their sofa or use the spare room, but he declined every time. Harry liked to claim that it was just because he loved his little campervan that he had saved years and years for, and that was true, but it was mainly down to pride. Harry was not going to live off someone else, no way. There was not a chance in hell that he would take someone's charity or pity; what kind of person would that make him? (A normal person, probably, but Harry had either a) too big an ego, b) a rate of self-esteem that he had worked too hard to reach than to let it be knocked down a peg or two, c) too much comfort in sticking with something of his own, or d) all of the above.)

So Harry had learned to cope with the trials and tribulations that came with living in a rusty campervan, in a deserted car park behind the shop he worked at, right next to the never-sleeping sea.

Of course, there were some pros to living in such small confinements. For one, he was alone and could do absolutely anything he liked. He could eat when he wanted, sleep when he wanted, smoke, wank, fuck, and do whatever he bloody well liked. He did not have to depend on someone else getting home to turn the hot water on (probably because he didn't have any hot water) or turn the heating on (again, his home did not supply those kinds of amenities). It was just him, Harry Styles, and that was it.

But the best thing about living in his home was that he could wake up every morning to the sea. He woke up to cracks of sunlight creeping through his makeshift gingham curtains. The sound of the sea was usually his first conscious thought, possibly a seagull if they were in a malevolent kind of mood. He would smell the remnants of smoke, petrol, grass and sea salt all mixed together, before cranking the window open and letting his senses be speckled by particles of the beach.

 So, really, Harry had a pretty good life for a twenty-one year old.

Harry swung his legs off the bed and let his feet settle on the carpeted floor. Grains of sand were embedded into the mossy green material and tickled the rough pads of his soles. He stood up and snatched his tracksuit bottoms that lay lifelessly on the sofa, stumbling a little as he jumped awkwardly into them. He pulled on random t-shirt, not even bothering to check whether it smelt or was stained with some kind of unknown substance, and his heavy jacket. Slipping his boots on, Harry patted his pockets to check that he had all that he needed and braced himself for the outdoors.

Just as he was about to leave, he heard a small whine behind him. Turning around, Harry saw that Caspar, his little Bedlington Terrier, had raised his head from his, previously sleeping, curled up position. His furry little head was cocked to the side in question, eyeing Harry up as he went to leave.

"Sorry, mate, it's too windy outside for you," Harry said, patting the woolly quiff affectionately. Caspar seemed satisfied by Harry's reasoning; after all, his frail skinny body would most likely topple over in such a gusty environment. He settled his head back down on his paws and wiggled his body back into his corner cushion, sighing contently.

The door swung open with ferocious power as soon as he unlocked it. It clattered against the side of the van loudly but did not disturb the weather's parade. In fact, it only added to the atmosphere. Loud claps of the wind’s hands and clashes of the waves' heads sounded through the air. As Harry jogged down to the beach, the cold air gushed through his body. Any trace of sleep was diminished by the whirling world around him and he suddenly felt more alive than he had in days.

Darkness encompassed him; he could only see a few feet in front of himself. It was somewhat thrilling, regardless of it not being all that exciting in comparison to some of the things Harry had experienced before. Being out in the dead of night, the town fast asleep and civilisation dead to the world, brought a sense of power to his bones. For all Harry's immediate mind knew, the world around him was infinite. It went on for miles and miles and miles and it never stopped. Nobody was there to interrupt it. The wind, the sea, the sand, and I.

Once reaching the bottom of the sandbank, Harry pulled off his boots and let his feet sink into the sand. The cold grains split between his spread toes and blanketed his heels. The feeling was not far from exquisite. Harry traipsed further down the beach, tripping on some of the bundles of seaweed and broken wood. He dropped his boots once the sand started to dampen and harden under his feet, and rummaged in his jacket pocket. His fingers wrapped around the rectangular box and squeezed in success. He pulled out the cigarettes into cold of the night and flipped up the lid. He pulled a fag out of the box and pressed it in between his lips. He pushed the box back into his pocket and retrieved his lighter, cupping his hands around the wavering tab and taking many attempts to light it up. Finally, the quivering flame caught on and let Harry take a deep draw.

With the burning tab between his fingers, Harry dragged his feet closer to the sea. His hair, the definition of bed-head already, blew in his face, strands tucking into his lips as he settled the tab between his pink plumps. His green eyes glanced into the darkness, watching the waves trail up and down, up and down. Regardless of the wailing wind, everything felt an unusual sense of calm. There was a buzz in his ears, what it was, Harry was not too sure.

Somehow, Harry caught a glimpse of the warm light filling the café at the top of the beach. The small building had an orange glow lighting up its insides, something extremely unusual for that time of night (or early morning, more like). Harry knew the owners of Crusoe's; Lou had been one of the first people to take him under her wing when he first moved there and, in turn, he had gotten to know her family. Because of their young daughter, Lux, there was little reason for the shop to be open so late. So, with his raring thoughts turning somewhat inquisitive, Harry finished off his tab, picked up his boots, and made his way towards the unusual scene. 

It took him even longer to make his way towards Crusoe's than usual, what with the wind's hands clutching at his ankles every time he lifted his feet and the constant need for his fingers to pin his wild hair out of his eyes. Eventually, though, he reached the empty shop. Tiredness was starting to curdle behind his eyes, pool in a small puddle that was yet to spread over the white porcelain of his eyes.

Cautiously, Harry pushed open the heavy glass door. He crept into the shop, ideas of what he could be faced with sprinting through his mind faster than he could comprehend. Was Harry prepared to fight off some kind of burglar? A burglar possibly armed with a weapon of some sort? Could he ever possibly win against a beefy, muscular Hench? Would he even get out alive?

Thoughts wild and imagination flaring, Harry braced himself for, what he expected to be, the fight of his life.

He turned the corner, ready to pounce on whoever it was with all of his might, but when his eyes came in contact with said imposter, the fight-mode dial in his body was cranked down to a pitiful three. Standing there, hands rushing around all of the machines, was the total opposite of what he expected. Male, yes, but his build was slim - yet somewhat curvy, too - and definitely not as butch as Harry had expected. He was fairly short, not a skyscraper of a man. Instead of being dressed in midnight black, he was wearing a pair of comfy tracksuit bottoms - light grey, to be precise, quite similar to the ones Harry had thrown on, actually - and a maroon hoodie. There was a bow knotted around his back, Harry suspected that it was the usual Crusoe's apron, which, in itself, did not exactly work to Harry's imagination's advantage. Surely a burglar would not try on the store's apron when stealing all the valuable belongings?

So Harry had deduced that this boy was definitely not a burglar or a threat of any kind, whatsoever. His hands were speeding around the machines as quick as lightning, sometimes skimming off pots full of some kind of liquid and nearly knocking them over. The shop was silent other than the machines' mechanically rolling, the steam streaming out of the machines being deafeningly loud. Who he was, Harry still did not have a clue, but he obviously liked making coffee, if the ten cups of various strengths that were lining the counter were anything to go by.

With his silent footsteps and careful manoeuvring, the busy boy was unaware of his presence and so Harry could watch him perform his fumbling movements with a bemused smile on his lips. Maybe it was a little odd that Harry's mouth was upturned at the corners whilst looking at someone he had absolutely no connection to whatsoever, but it was late at night/early in the morning and he really could not find it in him to give two shits.

Just as Harry was about to clear his throat and make his presence known, the boy whipped around from his position. His eyes were focused on the steaming beverage in the mug he was holding between both hands and he was yet to register Harry's loitering. He slid it onto the counter carefully, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Once the mug was settled on the clean tabletop, the boy stood up straighter and smiled to himself. He seemed to relax into a feel of content, thoroughly pleased with himself. His cheeks were rosy and bunched joyously, his eyes relieved and satisfied. And if Harry found the stranger pretty adorable in that moment, nobody else had to know.

The delighted little soul, however, was soon to be ruptured as soon as he spotted the presence of Harry. He jolted out of his bubble in shock, eyes wide and lips dropping from their crescent as if he had just been caught red-handed. He fishmouthed, opening and closing his mouth as he tried, and failed, to come up with an excuse. Harry would have found it mildly amusing if there had not been a certain awkwardness settling in the pit of his stomach.

"We're, err- we're not actually open, sorry," the boy said, running his fingers through the back of his hair. Dark caramel strands feathered up the tanned digits, incredibly soft looking. Harry's fingers twitched.

Harry cleared his throat, "Er, yeah, I know. I was just checking who was in here because Lou is never really open this late, so..."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Oh, you know Lou?" he smiled warmly, all traces of surprise sinking out of his body and his chilled aura returning.

Harry's fringe tumbled in front of his eyes as he leaned on the counter. The boy followed the way he shook his hair and swiped up the fallen pieces, waiting.

"Yeah, she's one of my best mates. Erm, how to d'you...?"

"She's my new boss!" the boy exclaimed excitedly.

And, okay, Harry was not all too sure how to react to that. The fact that this boy worked for Lou was not a big deal at all. It was not that; it was the fact that the boy was so excited about it. Harry was not going to discriminate against someone just because they enjoyed their job. After all, Harry enjoyed his. But excitement over working in the coffee shop? It was a lovely little shop, brilliant, in fact, but he had never seen someone so enthusiastic about working there. Maybe it was just because he mainly talked to Lou and she was never that into the shop, but it was a surprise seeing such enthusiasm. A pleasant one, at that.

"Oh, right, cool," Harry replied, unsure on what to say. He hoped dearly that he did not sound dismissive or rude; there was something about the boy which Harry seemed to dote on. Tiredness was starting to seep into Harry's bones but he wished it away with all of his might. He did not want to leave, for some strange reason that he did not want to figure out. It seemed like a part of him had snagged onto a branch that the boy extended naturally and he would not be able to untangle himself from it even if he wanted to. He wanted to take some of the boy's enthusiasm and nurture it into his own life. Or maybe he just wanted to take some of the boy and keep him in his own life; that could have been another option.

Silence settled over the pair, the hum of the machines being the only noise to corrupt the ultimate quiet.

Suddenly, after the short bout of quiet in which neither appeared to be going to speak, words burst out of the boys' mouth: "Would you mind having a taste of these?"

Harry's head shot up from staring at the scattered granules of sugar on the table, eyeing him curiously. Upon seeing Harry's furrowed eyebrows, the boy continued, "It's just, I've been practicing all night but I feel like I've tried so many cups that they all taste the same and I don't want to fail on my first day, y'know? So, I mean, if you aren't busy then..."

The boy gestured towards the cups that sat still on the counter, some steaming, some only having a small fuzz of warmth over their body. Honestly, Harry was not a massive fan of coffee. It was too bitter for his liking. To have it at this time of night would only keep him awake for longer, something that would not aid the three sessions he had booked for the next day (or technically, later that day). Plus, he hardly even knew this boy. Hell, he did not even know his name; who knew what he could have slipped into the hot beverage?

"Okay, sure."

-|-

Harry hissed as the freezing water hit his skin. His body was already pinked by the hand of the waves, and the ice cold droplets only added to the rawness. He winced as he dipped his head underneath the flowing showerhead, a transparent blanket being draped over his mop of hair. The bitterly cold water scalded his skin as he shook a hand through his hair, trying to rid of some of the excess sea salt and whatever else that had taken shelter in between the tats and knots.

Once most of the scum was washed off his upper body, he stumbled back to his van. The cold was biting his skin with fierce, sharp teeth and the muscles in his arms were straining with tiredness as he hauled his surfboard along with him. He propped it up against the side of the van before jogging over and turning on the hose rolled up at the back of the shop. He washed down his board and peeled off his wetsuit, jumping awkwardly as he tried to pull each leg off his ankle. Rings were imprinted on his skin, dashes of dark red left where the thread dug into his skin. It was like a numb bracelet that wrapped around his ankle, a reminder of the way the frozen sea spiked little needles around his feet until he could hardly feel them anymore.

Harry’s stomach growled as he dried himself off and changed into his clothes. The black skinny jeans suffocated his thighs, the thinnest forcefield of warmth separating his pinked skin and the material of the jeans. His t-shirt was scrappy and he was pretty sure that there was a hole in it somewhere, but it matched his untamed hair so he did not see the point in changing. Finally, his appearance was acceptable to be seen in normal civilisation, apart from his worn skin and tired eyes. He could almost feel the drag that the bags under his eyes caused, almost see with dulled glasses through his exhausted green eyes. Harry would have dug under his mattress for that small baggy which would at least brighten his appearance, even just in slight, but with his destination holding a young girl he held very dear to his heart, Harry would never risk it. Instead, he lit up a tab and willed it to cloud his lungs with a little dose of energy, at least.

Deciding to just try the old fashioned method of slapping his cheeks a few times to give him some colour, Harry put and intentional spring in his step as he followed his stomach’s ever growing protests. He watched the stragglers departing from the beach as he made his way down to Crusoe’s. Not many people were left, just the odd jogger or couple traipsing over the sand, hand in hand. What was with that, anyway? It was not like the blonde girl was dainty enough to be swept away, or young enough to not know that she should not go into the bitter sea at this time of night. Harry shook his head discreetly to himself; he would never understand.

The small building was lit up but barely occupied. The ‘open’ sign was swung around to the counter of the displays and no customers were scattered throughout the setup. The plastic chairs that were dotted around the tables outside were not to be seen, hidden away behind the shop ostensibly. Harry rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the warmth atmosphere that would overcome him as he pushed open the glass door. As expected, the aroma of coffee and sweet treats was draped over his senses, along with a comforting warmth that he had not felt at all that day. He had had a day full of classes teaching young kids how to surf in the wild sea. It was a task and a half trying to control the energetic terrors while they practiced techniques on the still sand, let alone in the actual sea where they could muck about ten times more. Harry had hardly had the time for a tab, much less warming up a little. Admittedly, though, Harry did not care all that much because he was teaching the most amazing thing in the world, in his favourite ever place. Nothing could get much better than that.

Back to the present, and Harry stumbled gracelessly into the shop (it wasn’t his fault his feet were just a bit too long for the skinniness of his legs). He, however, picked up his charm from the ground and brushed it off, walking into the shop in a more civilised manner.

“Uncle Harry!” Harry heard. A smile instantly graced Harry’s lips as the young voice chimed out his name excitedly. He looked up to see Lou wiping down the counter in front of him, bopping her hips to the side along with the radio. On her hip, looking as gorgeous and adorable as ever, was her daughter, Lux. Her little blonde pigtails bounced with every sway of Lou’s hips and her few teeth were bared with great pride as she smiled happily.

“Lux!” Harry exclaimed with equally as much enthusiasm. The young girl immediately leaned forward, stretching her milky little arms out in front of her and making grabby hands towards her adopted Uncle.

“Heya, love,” Lou greeted, smiling kindly at Harry as she passed her daughter over. “Have a good day?”

“S’alright. Had this family of young kids to teach in the half past session, murder to keep focused. ‘M proper knackered.”

“Knaggad, knaggad, knaggad,” Lux repeated gleefully as she bounced up and down in Harry’s arms. Harry sat her down on the edge of the counter, her chubby legs kicking out as she sat contentedly.

Harry turned around and went to grab a chair from a nearby table. As he moved, he started to speak, “And how have you been, beaut- shit.”

Right in front of him, as he turned around, was Coffee Boy (Harry had named him that when he had returned back to his van in the early hours of the next day, what with only knowing random facts about the boy and not his actual name. Harry didn’t think that it was suitable for the boy, he suited something a lot more fancy, but it was all his drained brain could conjure up so it had to do.), in all of his Coffee Boy glory. His eyes were disconcertingly bright and he was the definition smiley. His mouth was pulled into a wide, gleaming grin and he showed no sign of exhaustion from a twelve hour shift.

But Harry was not only gobsmacked by his extremely upbeat appearance, but by the fact that the boy’s presence had completely slipped his mind and all of his remembrance of Coffee Boy were brought straight to the front of his mind. He was bombarded by blue eyes and tanned skin and sparkling smile and curves. And, honestly, if you were in Harry’s situation, you would be pretty overwhelmed if that had just pounced into your space unexpectedly.

Before he even had time to register the fact that Harry had just inadvertently hit the boy with a heavy wooden chair, a cheeky remark darted from between the thin lips, “I’ve been very well, thank you. And you, Hitch?”

“I- uhh-,” Harry stammered, utterly perplexed by everything that had happened in the past ten seconds. “Hitch?” was the first, oh so articulate and sophisticated, thing he came out with.

“Y’know, like, the film?” Harry stared at him blankly. “Will Smith? The smooth operator? The, extremely handsome, advice giver to the failing bachelors? The man who can wangle his way into practically everyone’s knickers except for Eva Mendes’? No?”

“I don’t-,”

Coffee Boy turned to Lux, placing his hands on his hips and sighing dramatically, “Kids these days, hey? Don’t know anything!”

And with a ruffle of Lux’s hair, he was gone. Harry blinked, dazed.

“Did that just-,” he started, glancing towards the door to the kitchen that Coffee Boy had waltzed into.

“You want Chinese tonight? The usual?” Lou asked, seemingly unfazed by the outburst,

“Err, yeah, sure...” Harry mumbled. Still in a bit of a form of bewilderment, he placed the chair down and plonked himself down on it. He grabbed Lux from the counter, spurring a playful squeal from the toddler, and let her unsteady legs stand on his lap, He held tightly onto her chubby hands as she started wiggling her hips around to the music, still not entirely there.

A short amount of time passed with Harry entertaining little Lux as Lou cleaned the store front and the others worked out back. Idle chatter passed between Lou and him, a lot of bitching on Lou’s part about Sam’s latest fling, Harry mainly nodding along as if he understood entirely what she was going on about, and Lux just doing her own little boogie to the music she didn’t understand at all. Just as Lou finished cleaning the thousands of nozzles on the machines, Tom dragged himself from the kitchen area, Coffee Boy behind him.

“Alright, mate?” Harry asked.

Tom nodded, pulling off his beanie and giving his hair a good shake. “Just tired, she had me up at the crack of dawn,” he gestured towards the oblivious girl on Harry’s lap. “She doesn’t even fuckin’ like Peppa Pig, man.”

“Tom!” Lou scalded, whipping her husband with the dishcloth in her hand. Tom held his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes as Lou scowled at him.

“Mama, Luxy is hungry,” Lux said, bending her knees and bouncing up and down. In front of Harry, who was watching Lux intently to make sure that she did not fall off, Lou’s eyes widened in realisation.

“Shit-,”

“Ha!” Tom interrupted, pointing at Lou accusingly with a cheeky grin on his face.

“Shut it,” Lou ordered, sending a death glare towards Tom. Harry vaguely heard a muffled chuckle but soon got distracted by Lux’s sticky fingers prodding at his face. “I forgot about the food. It’s gunna be ready in, like, five minutes.” She checked her watch and sighed heavily. With a hand rubbing her forehead, she looked over at Tom, “C’mon, you can run me up there so I can pick it up.”

Tom made a sound of protest as he was dragged out of the shop unwillingly, causing Lux to giggle adorably and make Harry’s heart swell uncomfortably. He had almost forgotten that there was another person in the room until he heard the scraping of a chair on the floor. He looked up to see Coffee Boy looking at the pair of them peculiarly. Lux decided that she was tired of standing and curled up on Harry’s lap. Her soft body was pliant in his arms, all warm and full of love. He could not help but let his fingers stroke through the fine blonde hair that had fallen out of her pigtails affectionately.

“You’re really good with her,” the boy said as he leaned back on his chair.

“Thanks,” Harry replied softly, not really concentrating on anything other than the small body on his lap.

“Are you, like, related or something? She doesn’t really look like you, if I’m honest,” he asked unreservedly.

“Uh, no, I’ve just been here since she was born so we’re pretty close.” Harry glanced up at the boy who was watching them with a small smile. The fluorescent lights shone down on his hair, lighting the brown strands up to a rich caramel colour. They fanned over his forehead but were not long enough to tickle his eyelashes, which were, in fact, incredibly long from what Harry could gather. From all (and by all, the amount is actually only two) of Harry’s encounters with Coffee Boy, he had never seen him quite so reserved. He was not babbling away ten to the dozen, nor was his bouncy persona quite in its element. He seemed calm; everything seemed calm.

But then, of course, that was broken by the piercing scream that shot from Lux’s mouth unexpectedly. In their chairs, the two boys jumped in shock. Lux clambered up from her relaxed position, gripping tightly onto Harry’s shoulders. Her little fingernails dug into his skin through his top, but Harry could not think about that slight pain of the nipping as she continued to wail at the top of her lungs.

“What- what’s wrong?” Harry asked, looking around confusedly from the screaming child to the empty (bar Coffee Boy, obviously) shop. Lux just continued to scream, tear tracks running down her rosy cheeks. Her blurry blue eyes were staring behind him with fear laced through them. “Lux. Lux. Luxy, I need you to tell me what’s wrong, okay? Shh, it’s okay, gorgeous, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“S-s-s-spi-ider,” she whimpered, pointing her chubby finger to the wall.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and resisted laughing aloud at the situation. He did not want to make Lux cry even more. “Aw, Luxy, don’t cry, it’s not going to do anything to you. I’ll get rid of it for you, yeah?”

“D-don’t ki-ill it!” she stuttered through her sniffles. Harry smoothed his thumb over her soft cheeks, collecting the rolling tears on the rough pad. The thought of Harry killing the little insect made the little girl cry even more, a somewhat contradictory thought when the reason she was in such a state was because of the animal.

“Well- I’ll go and put it outside, yeah?” Lux nodded shakily, whimpers escaping her lips. Her hand was fisted in Harry’s t-shirt and only fell away when he prized her away gently. He placed the quivering little body on the chair carefully and rooted around behind the counter for a glass and a slip of paper. He slowly approached the devilish creature and captured it in the clear glass. He remembered the time when he was afraid of spiders, horrid, evil little individuals he thought they were. He was not exactly fond of them now, but he did not have that irrational fear that he held when he was in his youngest years. He remembers when the man from next door, wearing only pyjama bottoms, captured the massive spider in the bathtub the day after his father had packed up all of his things to go on a long trip somewhere (he did not know where, back then, but his naivety caused him not to ask and it was only until he found a letter from him years later addressed to his mother than he had found out that he had gone to Sydney, and was never ever coming back). He thought he was so strong and brave because of it, a total hero. (Harry, of course, lost that admiration the second he found out that he was actually a weaselling, vindictive, manipulative home-wrecker. But that was another story.) Harry wondered if Lux saw him like that. He hoped so.

After discarding the critter outside and pushing his foot down on it for good measure as it tried to scuttle back into the shop, Harry returned to an unexpected scene unfolding in front of him. The orange-glowing lights seemed to spotlight one certain, rickety, chair. They shone down on the unusual scene, as if highlighting the oddity that was occurring to Harry before he could even reason it out with himself.

Lux, the usually shy girl around anyone she hardly knew, was snuggled on Coffee Boy’s chest calmly. Her chest was rising and falling with a few stutters here and there, but her tears had stop racing down her cheeks at the alarming rate they were at previously. Her skin was blotched with red rashes and her lips were puffy, but she looked as serene as ever. Her little hand was wrapped around Coffee Boy’s neck and her face was buried comfortably in the curve of his neck. By experience, Harry knew that she was probably fiddling with the hairs at the base of Coffee Boy’s neck. A larger, tan hand was rubbing her back comfortingly and lips were muttering quiet reassurances in her ear. They both looked incredibly at ease with each other, cuddled up in such an intimate position.

Harry was, well, he was kind of astounded. And confused. And maybe just a little bit jealous, but hey, nobody needed to know about that.

He walked back to his seat, cautiously so, as not to break the relieving calm that had settled nicely, and sat opposite the pair. Lux looked at him through her big blue eyes, questioning him silently and eagerly waiting the response. Harry told her that he had let the spider go outside and that it was not going to return ever again, leaving out the part when his foot squished the little bugger to death. She visibly relaxed, moulding into Coffee Boy’s chest. A loose thread hung from the boy’s hoodie, drawing the little girl’s short attention span and causing her to become entirely interested by it.

“I’m surprised she’s letting you do that,” Harry said as Coffee Boy tickled under the girl’s neck lightly, luring a babyish and quiet giggle from her.

Coffee boy looked up, all eyelashes and jawline. A smile twisted his lips, a somewhat of a smirk it could be interpreted if analysed closely. He cocked his head to the side (adorably - sexily, possibly-), and began to talk. With every word came a tighter twist, a thicker tone. His eyes contradicted his mouth. So wide and innocent, blue and clear. They held nothing akin to the connotations his lips were exerting. His face was, basically, a contradiction personified. It was fascinating, truly fascinating.

“I suppose I just have the magic touch.”

Harry swallowed thickly and tried to keep his facial expression as blank as possible, but he was pretty sure that his eyes had doubled to the size of saucers and the lump in his throat looked like a tennis ball. His mind was a blur, a whirlwind of thoughts just spiralling around and around with no intention of stopping. He could hardly grasp one to hold onto, only catch a glimpse of words like hands and fingers and sex.

Harry cleared his throat. The atmosphere was not awkward, but there was something lingering in the background which felt thick around Harry’s ears. He would have retorted with a flirtatious jibe or sarcastic comment, but it did not feel right when a young child was curled up on the receiver’s knee and the whole scene in front of him looking so much more innocent than what he guessed was going on in the other boy’s mind to spur on such a comment. Truthfully, Harry could not really work out what was ever going on in Coffee Boy’s mind. Usually, Harry was the one with the quick quips back and the sneaky remarks, but it seemed like the roles had reversed all of a sudden and he was left as the one grasping onto any thread of a comeback. It was pretty embarrassing, to be honest.

“You- uhm, staying for something to eat?” he asked. Subject change, brilliant plan.

“Yup! I mean, if that’s okay with you, obviously,” Coffee Boy’s whole demeanour changed from that kind of cheeky, to the energetic kind of cheeky in a split second. He shrugged his shoulders happily and had a bright smile on his face.

“Uh- yeah, yeah, that’s, uh, fine by me,” and wow, Harry truly was the voice of eloquence.

“Great! I love Chinese. I could eat it, like, every single day and never get bored. It’s, like, the best thing ever, not even joking,” Coffee Boy babbled, rolling his words out into a long carpet of ramble. Harry just nodded and watched as Lux snuggled in closer to the boy’s chest and used her little fingertip to trace the sharp line of the boy’s jaw. His eyes were transfixed on the tiny digit outlining such a piece of art. Chiselled by the Gods, Harry thought, but then scalded himself for being such a cheesy twat.

Not long after, Lou and Tom bustled through the doors. Brown paper bags packed with the greasy food slapped off anything in their path. The smell was immediately intoxicating, causing Coffee Boy to groan loudly and lick his lips. Harry nearly started salivating. Over what, well, you can work that out.

“Mama, mama, there was a spider! But Uncle Hawwy got it and put it outside, so we all safe,” Lux exclaimed seriously.

Lou shot a cheeky glance at Harry, “Oh, so that’s what the big black smudg-”

“So!” Harry interrupted loudly, sending Lou a warning glance. She stuck her tongue out in reply. “Shall we eat?”

It was once they had tucked into the incredibly fattening food that Harry discovered something which just about changed nothing, and also everything. Coffee Boy was no longer Coffee Boy.

No, Coffee Boy was now known as Louis.

Louis.

It was perfect. It was bloody perfect. It was so Coff- Louis-like. It fit it him like his skinny jeans curved around his strong thighs. Obviously it fit him because it was his name, but Harry would never have thought of it. But then again, thinking about it now, he would never have thought of anything else. Harry could not really explain why it was so fitting; it just was. Somehow, it seemed to knock his sexy-ometer up a good few notches. All because of a name. Harry wondered how high the notch would go if Harry saw his naked bo-

But Harry kept a restraint on any wandering thoughts and immersed himself in the energetic chatter that filled the room. Louis seemed to be quite the chatterbox, constantly filling in silence with, to be honest, utter crap. It was not majorly annoying, though, only in slight. Harry just wanted a little bit of silence to order his thoughts in a bit more of an organised manner, but it seemed like Louis was intent on messing his mind up even more.

Louis really pushed the boat out when they passed around the spare ribs. Now, Harry, he was pretty good at hiding his emotions. Or, at least, he hoped. He was able to don a relatively blank mask when his thoughts turned in a different direction to what he would like. So he whipped out said mask when Louis decided to return to that infuriatingly flirty persona.

Okay, so maybe Harry was just sexually frustrated or something because the way that Louis was sucking on his fingers after picking up the ribs was driving him absolutely crazy. Harry could not help but think of those fingers being slicked up to push inside of him, to be thrusted in and out and curl inside of him teasingly. Or possibly to be wrapped around his cock, tight and warm and pumping furiously fast. Honestly, there were a lot of things that Harry wanted to do with those fingers in that moment, and none of them were exactly very PG.

It was just- Harry had not been laid in a while and Louis, well, Louis was fucking gorgeous. Harry was horny and Louis was doing – unintentional – sexual things with his hands; nobody could blame him, really. And it was not like Harry was going to act on it, so his thoughts did nobody any harm.

Soon after the ‘ribs incident’, the group had disbanded with farewells and goodbyes. Harry was surprised with how well the blue eyed boy fit into the little family that they had going on, but he pushed that thought aside as soon as he collapsed into bed. Caspar clambered over Harry’s long limbs and curled into his side. His body was soft and warm and turned Harry’s thoughts from Louis to anything not-Louis related.  Caspar would climb away and make a bed in his scattered cushions sooner or later, but Harry was content with having a little ball of fluff to cuddle with for a little amount of time. It was enough for him to fall into a sound sleep, so that was all that Harry asked for.

And if Harry woke up in the middle of the night with a raging hard on and thoughts of Louis’ fingers, well, nobody had to know.

-|-

Harry balanced his weight carefully as he pressed down on the back of the board. He steered the board with painstaking care, wanting to catch the best wave that there had been that day. The wind was not fighting against itself so the waves were a little flat, something Harry did not appreciate. He had tried to catch some of the previous waves, but most broke too soon and gave him nothing to work with. Obviously, having surfed for years and years, Harry was used to days of having little surf to work with, but that did not reduce the frustration that they brought. He was desperate for a wild sea, a one which carried his board with clumsy fingers and a misguided mind.

In perfect Nick Grimshaw manner, however, the quiffed fellow was able to ride the small waves perfectly easily. Harry probably should have loathed the man’s guts for being so good at Harry’s favourite pastime, but he could never hate someone like Nick. Nick was- well, he was nick. There was not really a word that defined him, in Harry’s eyes, anyway. Most would probably say cocky, arrogant, sarcastic, moody, cheeky, flirty, whore etc. Not Harry, though. After all, the man did give him a job and basically start up his life again, along with Lou, so, really, he did not have the right to complain.

Unlike how in the films with the never-ending white stretches of sand and clear blue water, the pair did not really interact whilst surfing. Both agreed that it was more of a solitary sport than a social one, and did not feel the need to mess around. That did not mean that they did not have fun, because of course they did; they were doing the thing they both loved the most. There were a few splashes and head dunks, but it was a time for them both to make the most of the quiet business and the mind-overwhelming perfection of the waves.

Suddenly, Harry’s foot slipped and his whole body was dropped into the freezing water. Most of his body was covered by the skin tight wetsuit, but his head had no preparation for such a dramatic change in temperature. The ice cold water stunned his clear mind into a state of numbness, not letting anything in or out. The immediate change in density caused a slash of pain to strike from the base of his neck to the crown of his skull. On instinct, his eyes were squeezed tight shut and his breathing had cut off.  The lack of sensation was almost comforting to Harry, the burn feeling more than just a pleasurable pain.

He tried to stay under the surface until his lungs started to burn and his feelings started to leak back into his body. The way that his body wanted to rise up to the top, but Harry could hold himself down and go against his wishes was somewhat thrilling. But he did not have that much control, and that was the good thing. He could control when he left, but not what he felt. Something he could not often experience. Something he wanted to experience a lot more. He loved the lack of control that he could have over his body. He loved the way it acted upon instinct and made him feel whatever it needed to, whatever it wanted to. There were rushes of blood and streams of adrenaline. There was a numbness that hurt and could not be cured, that did not want to be cured. It was liberating. Internally, his body was going haywire, and Harry was infatuated with the feeling.

He surged out of the water, water splashing everywhere as he entered the world once more. His hair was plastered to his face, glued to his skin uncomfortably. There was an instant burn as the breeze bit his skin, his numb skin. His face was probably an unattractive shade of rose, but the heaving of his chest and the hard beating of his heart made up for it.

“You’ve really gotta stop doin’ that, H, for all I knew you were bloody drownin’ down there,” Harry heard.

He blinked rapidly to try and dissipate his blurred vision, not wanting to wipe his eyes with salt infected hands, to look at Nick. He had done it a fair few times when around Nick, and the first did not go down all too well. Now Nick was just used to it, and, fair enough, it probably was not safe, but Harry needed it and Nick understood that. Instead of replying properly, Harry just displayed that charming and cheeky grin of his, the one that melted Nick right at the very start of their friendship.

He vaguely heard an utterance of ‘you’re such a fuckin’ twat,’ but chose not to register it. Instead, he reeled his board back in and set out to catch the up-and-coming wave. The funny thing was that whenever Harry had a fall or lost the wave, his confidence was never knocked. He knew he was good at surfing, really bloody good, so he did not let the small negatives overtake the main positive. His whole life was like that, pretty much always pushing the bad things aside for the good things. (Harry would like to claim that that was why he did not exactly do relationships, because why include all the bad things when you can have the good just as easily?)

So Harry continued to surf until the ache in his back became just that little bit too painful and the soles of his feet felt red raw. Dusk was settling over the beach, an orange glow painting the sky with its soft bristles. There were lines of pink and red and blue and grey scratched in between the casting of the setting sun. If Harry could paint, he would definitely paint the scene now. Maybe he would include a lone surfer who looks suspiciously similar to the man next to him, the board skimming the wave elegantly. It would be soft and beautiful. Harry would treasure it will all of his heart.

Nick and he trudged out of the water, tearing off the Velcro strap as soon as they reached the shallow sweeping of the waves. There was a gaggle of rambunctious, drunk teenagers to the side of them. A few were kicking a ball around, some lying down, and a couple of them chatting. As the pair of them walked by, some of the group cheered cheekily. Nick flipped them the middle finger, a smirk on his lips. Harry just laughed and shook his head. He was pretty sure the cheer was for the mile long legs that Nick had, but he took a slice of the rowdy compliment just for good measure. He probably could have gone and joined the group, maybe taken up an offer or two for a quick fumble behind the rocks. But he was grimy underneath his wetsuit and all he wanted was to spend the night in his van with a pack of tabs and a six pack of beer. Wow, what a life for a twenty-one year old, huh?

It took a while for the pair to wash down their boards by his van and peel off the clingy wetsuits, but eventually they were settled in the cosiness of Harry’s van. Caspar was curled on the front seat of the campervan, totally and utterly worn out from his time on the beach early that morning. Harry just placed his dog food – organic dog food that was from the Sunday market, I’ll have you know – in front of his sleeping head and let him do his own thing. He was kind of similar to Harry in that sense: a solitary being that need not know anything other than a lazy life. Neither depended on anyone else other than the other, and neither intended on changing that any time soon.

Harry and Nick lazed on the bed, long legs tangled in the middle like the vines in a jungle. They did not fit together, more so of a jagged edge matched with a rounded curve. Harry was summer leaves rusting; Nick was bare branches. Harry was the knobs of his spine; Nick was dry skin around his elbow. Harry was the morning dew; Nick was the cold night’s bristling breeze. Harry was the stars and Nick was the sky. (And Louis was everything in between. Louis was the spring flower in blossom. Louis was the soft skin between forefinger and thumb. Louis was the sun at its highest during the day. Louis was the whole galaxy that pulled everything together. Not that Harry was thinking about that, like, in the slightest. Honestly, he wasn’t.)

But they still spent time with each other, just because. Squished cartons of cigarettes lay haphazardly on the mattress and opened cans of cheap beer balanced precariously on the ledge. Tornados of smoke plumed from between their lips, merging together in the middle in a mess of grey. The air was stuffy and gathered at the back of Harry’s eyes. An unnamed indie song crackled through Harry’s prized radio, a Roberts Burgundy one that everyone had chipped in for for his nineteenth birthday. Neither spoke much, a passing comment never really taking flight in the musty air.

It was only until one certain topic passed through Nick’s thin lips that Harry took much notice. It was unintentional, the perking up of Harry’s attention, and he claimed it to be because he had just taken a long gulp of the, somewhat rancid, alcohol and finished his tab so his attention was neither here nor there.

“That Lewis lad is canny,” Nick said thickly, hooded eyes glancing towards Harry.

 

“It’s Louis,” Harry corrected. “But, yeah, he seems alright,” he shrugged, only partially feigning nonchalance.

“Got a pretty face,” Nick stated, tapping the ash from the end of his tab. His eyebrows were raised suggestively and somewhat leeringly.

“Can’t say I’ve noticed,” he replied and then took a large swig from the can. He did not dare to glance over at the older man. Eyes were the keyholes to someone’s world. Lies were the key which unlocked them.

Nick’s mouth hung agape, strong jaw dropping like its strings had been dropped abruptly. “What do you mean you haven’t noticed? Have you not _seen_ that arse?”

“I thought you were talking about his face?”

“Face, arse—same difference.”

“How?!” Harry asked at the nonsensicalness that Nick had just spouted.

“Well all I care about is my dick bein’ in either of the two, so,” the quiffed man said crudely, winking lewdly with a smirk stretching his lips.

“You’re obscene,” Harry stated. He threw his finished can at Nick’s head and watched it clatter off the window behind him. Evidently, aim was not his strong point. 

“So d’ya think I can get in there? What are my chances on a scale of one to ten?” Nick rolled over onto his stomach and rested his chin on his hands. His feet knocked something off the table behind him but he did not even bat an eyelid. Prick.

Without hesitance, Harry replied, “Negative five point five.”

Nick shot Harry one of _those_ scowls and reached for another ciggy. He placed the tab between his lips and lit it skilfully, taking a deep drag soon after. “You’re just lying because you want in his pants, too.”

Harry’s features arranged themselves in an indignant expression, “ _No,_ I’m just saying that you have no fucking chance with him because you’re- well, you’re _you._ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Nick asked in slight offence.

“It means that you’re the total opposite of him in, like, every single way.”

“I see nothing of the sort.”

“Mate, even just looking at the two of you it’s fucking obvious. First off, you’re, like, massive and he’s kinda short. You’re all rough and fucking _hipster,_ and he’s smooth and more _pop_ than anything else. He’s a generally happy person and you’re just a grumpy old bastard most of the time. So no, there’s no bloody chance that you’re getting in his pants.”

“That plays no part in the fact that I have a big cock and he has a brilliant arse, and that the two would have a peachy time together.”

“That’s total bullshit and you know it.”

“My cock _is_ big!”

“Mine’s bigger!”

“No it’s not! It just looks bigger because you’re shorter than me!”

“That’s the biggest fucking lie ever, Grimshaw.”

“You’re just jealous of my endless bravado, Harold.”

“Fuck off.”

And that was the end of it.

-|-

Orange flames danced together, legs licking up one another’s body and hands dissolving into each other. It changed from orange to yellow to rust to white throughout its body. The fire spat sharp sparks out at its surroundings. It was delicate yet fierce. The head that radiated from the bundle of flames was overwhelming at times, giving the false illusion that it was not dangerous at all. The random melody of its crackling was warm and comforting inside Harry’s ears. The fire was his friend, he deduced, as he became entranced by it.

It may not have been obvious in Harry’s everyday lifestyle, but Harry did have quite a few friends. During the week, he never had the time or the energy to invest some ‘quality time’ with anyone other than the few who lived around the beach. The ones who were gathered around the campfire with him were his closest friends. That was not to say that Lou, Tom and Lux, and Nick and Caroline (she co-owned the surf shop with Nick, but had been away in Hawaii checking out the surf carnival. She was like a big sister to Harry, except for that one time that they ended up pissed out of their minds in the back of his van and having a quickie, but that doesn’t get mentioned anymore.) were not close to him, because they were, but they just were not always on the same wavelength as him.

Next to Harry was Liam. Or more so zaynandliam, seeing as Zayn had sprawled himself over Liam’s lap and they were currently attached by a, rather passionate, lip-lock. Liam was only really Harry’s friend as a by-product of Zayn, but that did not mean that he was any less appreciated. With Zayn, came Liam. With Liam, came Zayn. That was just how it was. Harry had always had a soft spot for Liam; he seemed to bring out only the best in Zayn. Harry had not known Zayn for long before he and Liam got together, but Liam had changed the other boy a lot, for the better, of course. He was just so gentle and calming and had that _feel_ about him which made you want to wrap him up in a blanket and serve him hot chocolate all day.

Zayn was the first main friend that Harry made when he moved to the coast. At first, Harry was a little stricken by his attitude, or at least his external attitude. Somehow, they had found a connection and, as they say, the rest is history. Harry loved Zayn; he was exactly what he needed. He was laidback, eccentric, sarcastic and a little bit moody. But somehow, he was still extremely caring and loving. He did not give a damn when Harry snapped at him or was an hour late to their pub date; he just took it all in his stride. Harry both envied and admired Zayn’s perspective on life. It was easy to get caught up in and impossible to get out of. Thankfully, Harry did not want to escape that world just yet.

The pair of them had recently moved closer to the city so that Liam could get a higher paying job and Zayn could expand his skateboarding shop. It was never confirmed, but rumour had it that Zayn’s father was extremely wealthy before he died and that Zayn had inherited most of his money. This, therefore, made the ease of Zayn being able to support his, relatively unsuccessful as of yet, business much more understandable. He would always slyly offer Harry the amount to fix his damaged board or the equivalent to ten cubes of board wax in cash, but Harry always refused. Regardless of how much money Zayn had stored away, he was not going to take any of it. He moved away by himself and he would continue by himself.

Usually, Niall would be lounging around on the sand by the campfire. The Irish lad, however, had about as much sense of time as Caspar had energy: little to none. For some reason, nobody cared that the boy was always late. It was just his ‘thing’. His personality made up for it. Whenever he stepped through the, metaphorical, doors, he would practically fill the room. He was always bright and bubbly and hardly ever upset. That, of course, did have its downside because he could never really be serious. Harry always wondered what went on in Niall’s brain; he assumed it was a complete mess up there if his random spoken thoughts had anything to do with it. He asked once, but all he got in reply was ‘tits and shit’. But like was said before, it was _Niall_ so nobody gave a flying fuck.

Every Friday night, the four of them gathered around a makeshift campfire on the beach. It was a tradition of sorts. Sometimes other people joined; sometimes it was just them. Either way, it was a time where they could all lose their inhibitions and get pissed and high.

After glancing at the snogging couple beside him, Harry decided to go and visit his soul mate. Not wanting to break up –wait, was Zayn _actually_ dry humping Liam?– whatever was going on between them, Harry started wandering down to the water’s edge. He toed off his shoes and socks and lined them up neatly just out of the water’s reach. Looking out, all he could see were shades of black and dark blue and sprinkles of silver. The moon illuminated some of the crashing waves and reflected itself beautifully in the still sea. The horizon faded into a never-ending darkness that Harry was almost tempted to run in to. The freezing water crept up to his toes and immersed them teasingly. Harry smiled at its personality. It was a cheeky one, that sea.

He spent a while just hovering by the ocean, not doing much at all. He liked the silence and darkness that surrounded him, the stillness that the beach had been doused in. Some would say that it was funny that he opted to spend time alone when he was in the company of others, that it was rude and unappreciative. But having the two people with him in a state that was not exactly suitable for small talk depleted all of those arguments because it was not like he was there, anyway, as far as they were concerned. Harry did not mind, though, because Zayn and Liam were happy and that was all that mattered to him. Sometimes, yes, it did get a little too much and he had to throw something at them; he could not always be okay with a loving relationship being rubbed in his face unintentionally. Did Harry want what they had? He had no fucking clue.

When his toes started to tingle with a little bit too much pain over pleasure, he grabbed his shoes and socks and dragged himself back to the campfire. Upon approaching the gathering, Harry spotted an extra figure sitting where he sat. Had he just gone into some kind of time warp and returned to his world, which was continuing normally, as a ghost?

Fortunately, –or unfortunately, because Harry thought that that would be really fucking cool– it turned out that the figure was not another-him, it was Louis. And well, that kind of changed Harry’s mood up quite a lot.

There was a slosh of adrenaline thrown into the mixing bowl of his mind. A dash of anxiety was dribbled in for good measure. A splash of excitement was hoyed in without much consideration. A dosage of unknown was snuck in underneath a spoonful of confusion. They were all mixed together by a stick of liveliness and sudden energy. A coiling in his stomach was spurred on by the combination, as well as an over-eager grin on his lips.

“Hey, Harry, look who turned up!” Zayn called, obviously having lost the attraction to Liam’s lips for a few minutes.

Louis waved at Harry, smiling that pretty smile; all gleaming teeth in the moonlight. “Hey, Hitch.”

And then he winked. _Winked._ He _winked_ at Harry.

Harry spluttered a little and felt his face heat up a considerable amount. Thankfully, he was pretty sure that he was in a shadow and the blush would be very hard to distinguish, so that was one embarrassing moment avoided.

“Still going with the Hitch thing, are you?” he asked casually, taking a seat next to the boy; not too close, though.

“Yup!” Louis exclaimed joyfully, like he was incredibly proud of himself. Harry could not help but smile at his enthusiasm, teeth and all.

“Lou brought us some proper posh wine, H. Said he got it from that market in town. Y’know, the one Fit Aiden runs?” Niall said, rolling a dark bottle of wine through the bumps in the sand in Harry’s direction. He picked it up and admired its quality. Red: his favourite.  

“Thanks, mate; it looks great,” he said sincerely, still looking at the cool bottle that he was swivelling in his hands.

“Yeah,” Louis said softly. “Yeah, it does.”

Harry glanced up at Louis and saw him looking straight at him. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, however cheesy that may have seemed. Harry was not sure whether he was imagining it or not, but he was pretty sure that the stars were reflected in the cerulean pools. It felt like he was looking straight into the midnight scene he had been immersed in beforehand. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.

Suddenly, though, the (Harry refused to call it a ‘moment’ because he did not _do_ moments) gentle air around them was cracked by the, oh so formal, announcement from Niall.

“Let’s get shitfaced, ya’ fancy bastards.”

And so that is what they did.

Harry helped Louis scoop out a hole to bury his posh wine in along with Zayn’s cheap bottle of vodka. His mind absolutely did not go into a slight frenzy whenever their sand-coated hands brushed against each other. Nope. Not at all. Banter was thrown between mouths recklessly, cackling laughter spattering the sea air. The cracking of can lids broke the small silences, along with the thick gulps as the amber liquid sloshed down their throats. The wine and vodka were cooling in the slightly damp sand and were not to be opened until much later, Louis had decided.

It was nice. Incredibly nice. Harry was able to be filled in on the other boys’ lives and get to know the new star in his galaxy just that little bit better. Of course, it was not the most personal of chats, mostly idle speech, but it was something and the fuzzy-headed Harry grasped it with two hands. Unexpectedly, the five of them got along very well. Louis seemed to slip right into the position which had not been vacant until he himself arrived. He could quip back cheeky remarks to Zayn’s sarcastic humour. He could make a joke that made Niall spit out his drink disgustingly and made the fire rouse fiercely during its performance. He could make Liam blush to no ends by making a crude remark as Zayn smattered heavy kisses on Liam’s neck. And with Harry, Louis could set something alight inside him that he had not felt before.

Alcohol was warm in their chests and smoke ringlets were painted in the night air. Exposed skin was bitten by the cold breeze, but the burn of the beer trickling through their veins was enough to keep their spirits heightened to a level only achievable with the situation at hand.

“Oi, Niall, y’got any weed? That little shit over there forgot his and’ll never make it up to his van if he keeps drinkin’ like that,” Zayn said, a thickness settling behind his words. As he gestured towards Harry, the curly haired boy made a sound of offence. Ironically, he had just cracked open another beer and took a long glug of it just in spite of Zayn.

“O’course I do, who the fuck d’ya think I am?” Niall replied, as if it was the most obvious answer in the history of the world. To be honest, it probably was, but still.

He lay back and lifted his hips up. He wiggled around a bit as he stuck his hand in his pocket and finally produced a small baggy. He held it up in triumph, crooked teeth glinting through his proud smirk.

“How much y’got?” Liam asked, throwing his head back to glance around Zayn’s body over to Niall.

“’bout three joints worth, I’d say, but I wanna keep some for when I see Crazy Amy tomorrow.”

“Y’still got a thing with her, like?” Harry asked.

“Aye, ain’t seen her in a while, though, been travelling ‘round France or some shit like that,” Niall replied, shrugging as he rolled the joint carefully.

“Why do you call her Crazy Amy?” Louis inquired.

“’cos she’s fuckin’ crazy in bed,” Niall said, a smile beaming from his face proudly. He pressed the joint in between his lips and lit the end. Everyone watched as the flame roared before settling to a sizzling burn. Niall took a hit first, and then settled back on his hands. He blew out slowly, coughing a bit, all eyes trained on the curling smoke. He sighed, content.

A certain lethargic calm settled over the group as the joint was passed around after Niall took another hit. Held between two fingers, Harry breathed in. He revelled in the way the smoke rolled down his throat and into his lungs. The choking that ensued once he had held it in his lungs made his heart beat faster, the thrill of it rushing through him. His eyes were a little furred around the edges already because of the alcohol and even more heat plumed in his lungs. The feeling cradled his bones with such grace and care. A thickness lined his mind and his limbs started to melt around the edges; like a chocolate bar softening, he thought, or butter sizzling into a creamy mess in a pan. He took it again, the feeling repeating all over again. Heaven.

But then it was eased away from him with delicate fingertips. And the end which previously rested in between the soft beds of Harry’s lips was then sitting tenderly between Louis’.  Harry watched him take a long drag of it, breathe in a little air, and hold it in. He even made the spluttering look elegant; Harry was perplexed. He wanted him to repeat the process, mesmerised. He barely noticed when Louis handed the joint to the lounging couple.

Louis woop’d loudly as Zayn took a deep drag and then pressed his lips to Liam’s, breathing the smoke into his boyfriend’s mouth. The transaction soon turned into a passionate snog, one which caused Niall to break into a fit of unwarranted laughter. Louis giggled and grabbed the cold glass bottle of wine from the makeshift cooler. Harry stared as he twisted open the cap, biceps bulging underneath the tight top he had on. For being by the sea at night time, the boy was not exactly dressed the most suitably. But Harry was far from complaining because- _was that a straining vein?_

The surfer was torn from his daze by a cold, slick bottle top being pressed against his lips. His eyes snapped up to see Louis kneeling next to him, body close to hovering over him. What would happen if Harry knocked Louis’ left arm, purely by accident, and caused him to lie-

His eyes, fuck, Louis’ eyes. They were so wide and bright, like the moon above the sea. His pupils were wide, massive pools of midnight. Harry could barely fathom how they reflected the stars and the moon in their shiny depths. He was intrigued by their utter perfection. Were they even real? Or were they an oil painting? Or even marbles? Harry wanted to name the shade of blue they were, but his fuzzy mind could not string together syllables, let alone suitable words. Instead, he decided that he would call them-

“Coffee Blue,” he murmured, his bottom lip catching on the glass and dragging slowly until it pinged back into place. Blue was trained on the rosy pink. Eyes were focused on it like it held a hidden hypnotiser.

“Coffee Blue?” Louis repeated, cocking his eyebrow up.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed with a smile. “Yeah, Coffee Blue.”

Louis just let out a soft giggle and matched the round bottle head with Harry’s lips. He tilted it, causing the liquid to slosh onto Harry’s lips until he opened them. The strong drink drowned his tongue in burning lava, and then washed down his throat. Harry wanted Louis to stop but he kept tipping the wine into his mouth. The burn was not only from the strong alcohol, but also from the total control that Harry had given to Louis without realising. It was the alcohol, the drugs, the high from the situation, not the boy in front of him, nope.

Finally, Harry was able to get his coordination together and push the bottle away. Some of the red liquid splashed down his hoodie, but Harry did not care, could not care. Louis traced the wet spots on the fabric with his finger idly. Harry just stared at the way his eyelashes seemed to fan on his cheeks so delicately. His imagination kicked in with the lashes turning into vines and winding around his neck to pull him in, to submerge him in the sea.

His green eyes were trained on the way that Louis’ lips wrapped around the head of the bottle and swallowed down some of the drink. In awe, he watched his neck being revealed and his Adam’s apple bob. If he had the energy, he would have traced his fingertip down the side of the tanned neck and let it rest on the soft skin of his collarbones.

Harry, Louis, and Niall spoke lazily to each other whilst Zayn and Liam went off into their own little world. Harry could feel small glances hitting his cheeks from Louis’ direction, but refused to acknowledge them. They spoke about anything and everything. Some of it was total shit; some of it was the stuff that psychologists would thrive off of. None of them distinguished which was which. At one point, Zayn and Liam pulled apart and joined in on the conversation, but then Liam’s tongue started to trace behind Zayn’s ear and their participation was a goner.

“D’you fancy takin’ another hit then goin’ down to the sea with me, Hitch?” Louis asked, a little bit later. His Coffee Blue eyes were hooded as he looked over at Harry. Harry wondered how well he could see him. It was dark and his eyes were close to shutting. Then he realised that he probably looked a right state, and thought that maybe it was for the best.

It took a while for Harry to register what he had said, feeling a little overwhelmed by everything that was going on, but soon he was able to form one coherent word: “Okay.”

Louis got Niall to roll up another joint. The Irish lad took a few hits himself before making Louis stumble up and take it from him. Louis flopped down next to Harry, who had taken to lying down to see the stars. He turned his head to look at Louis. He saw the stars again.

The process of taking a hit started again: Harry taking a drag and then passing it to Louis. Instead of it happening like he had expected when Louis brought it to his lips, a different occurrence happened. Just after Louis had taken a breath, he grabbed Harry’s face. His thumb rested on his chin and eased his mouth open. He then blew out a flurry of smoke, indirectly into Harry’s mouth. Harry had coughed the tiniest of amounts when it hit the back of his throat unexpectedly, but that did not deter him from noticing the mischievous yet proud look in Louis’ stars.

Suddenly, Louis was up. He stumbled a little, of course, but steadied himself quickly whilst reaching out to grab Harry’s hand. He pulled him open, prompting an ungracious trip from Harry’s overly large feet. With half the bottle of red wine in his hand and the tips of Harry’s fingers caught between his, Louis dragged Harry to the sea without a word.

With bare feet, they stood in the shallow waves. The wine bottle was passed between them, red staining their lips. If only the moon shone with a golden ray, Harry would be able to see the berry stained softness that graced Louis’ lips. He wondered if it would act like lipstick, give him a smudging of darkness too if he merged their lips together. He wondered if he would be embarrassed by the state he would look, all wide eyed and red lips; he did not think he would be.

“I love the stars,” Louis randomly said. Harry glanced over at him to see his face tilted upwards towards the sky. What was that word again? It starts with a B and Jim Carrey says it in Bruce Almighty in classic-Carrey style?

“Yeah?” Harry asked after a few delayed moments.

“Yeah,” Louis said. It seemed as if he was not going to add anything more onto his casual announcement, a long pause ensued afterwards. The sound of the waves crashing was louder in Harry’s ears. He could feel them in his head, breaking against his skull and then drifting gently into a calm state after a few rocks back and forth. He might have been swaying along with the waves, he was not quite sure.

“They hold everything, don’t they?” the Coffee Blue eyed boy asked, or more so stated with an added question in spite of his alluring confidence.

“What?”

“The stars.”

“Oh... I guess...”

“It’s weird to think that millions and millions of people have looked at the exact same stars that we’re looking at now.”

“Yeah.”

“People that are alive, people that are dead: they’ve all looked at them. They just looked at a tiny dot in the sky. Out of all of the stars they could have looked at, they chose one of these. The people who are alive do not know when they’ll die, and the people who are dead did not know when they would die. But they took the time to look at the little sparkly thing during the night and immediately made a connection with it. I think we make connections with stars as soon as we look at them, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

“Like, _that_ is the star; it’s _your_ star. It’s yours and all yours. You’ll join all of the others who thought, _hey, that’s pretty,_ but they won’t feel exactly like you do about it. It’s like the star settles in your heart and it’ll keep burning there until you lose faith. And when you lose faith, _poof,_ it’s gone. They’re what keep you going to eternity, what give you strength. But if you forget about them, if you don’t appreciate them, then they won’t be able to help you anymore. That’s why I refuse to live in London. I might not be what society thinks is a star, I’m not _that_ kind of a star, but I think I’m pretty close to being a star in my own right. I need the stars, and the stars need me.  And I admit that. That’s why I’m a star.”

Harry looked over at Louis. Their arms were brushing together, an inexplicable heat searing through Harry’s clothes to reach his skin. He did not notice their gravitation towards each other. He thought that he should have related that to the stars, but he was too busy entranced by Louis to do that.

He knew that it was probably Louis’ high making him spurt out all kinds of nonsense, but that did not make it any less endearing. He was so determined, so passionate about that the fact he thought he was a star and nobody was going to tell him otherwise. What made it even more captivating was that Harry believed him. Harry could see the stars in his eyes and he could feel the aura that they gave off. He knew that Louis was as special as the star his eyes were locked on. And who gave a shit if he was being a cheesy sod? He was high and pissed and fucking Coffee Boy was next to him; he had the right to act as sappy as he wanted.

“Y’know what I think?” Harry said without even registering it.

“What?” Louis dragged his eyes away from the sky and put all of his attention on Harry.

The moon painted a soft strip of light on the angle of Louis’ jaw and the tip of his nose. His lips, which were slightly parted, were cast in an ivory veil around the very edge. His eyelashes were a convex of fine strands that had a beautiful glow surrounding them. His eyes: the stars reflected in the sea.

“I think I wanna kiss you really bad.”

And before Harry had a chance to realise what he had said, a pair of lips were on his. The sea seemed to quiet around him; everything seemed to settle into a state of awe. A pair of thin lips moved against his raw ones, so gentle. Harry could feel the force building behind the kiss, the soft sponging turning into a prizing of Harry’s lips open and the sweeping of a wine-tainted tongue upon his. Louis’ tongue palmed against his and his head twisted, the kiss deepening. Harry’s tongue traced the back of Louis’ front teeth; he could taste the bitter twang of weed and a hint of coffee. Harry’s hand cradled the back of Louis’ head, his fingers threading through the silky strands. He would have been fascinated by the fact that his hand spanned across most of the boy’s skull, but Louis’ tongue was in his mouth so he did not really care.

There was the night. There were the stars. There was the sea. There was Louis. And there was Harry’s happiness, too.

Eventually, Louis pulled away. Heavy breaths were exchanged as their foreheads rested together. Hooded eyes stared into each other, dark pupils but bright irises.

“That was nice,” Louis said, sated.

“Yeah,” was Harry’s lethargic reply.

“You wanna do it again?”

“Yeah.”

So that is what they did. The grey clouds drifted in the midnight blue sky; the moon shone at its brightest. Harry’s eyes caught the star Louis was looking at before, he thought he may have imagined it shining extra bright, but he had not. It twinkled, ironically, and Harry smiled into the kiss. They staggered backwards in each other’s arms, freezing water splashing up their revealed calves. Every abnormal trickle of the water that broke the wave pattern was loud in Harry’s ears. Pairing the beautiful noise in his ears with tantalizing lips on his mouth, Harry was most definitely in a state of bliss. All that he needed was to be seated on his surfboard in the middle of the water, and he was pretty sure he would be in heaven.

With a hook of Louis’ foot around Harry’s, the two toppled onto the floor. The thin sheet of water squelched around them, coldness seeping into their skin. Louis’ forehead knocked off Harry’s chin, making Louis squawk and Harry groan in pain. Soon, though, they both began to giggle furiously. Their lips caught on one another as they sniggered, a messy kiss full of breathy laughter and clashing teeth.

Sooner or later, the kiss smoothed out. It was incredibly languid but injected even more relaxation into his bones. Harry felt like he was floating on a cloud, or that his limbs had turned into marshmallow. Harry’s tongue traced the indentations in the roof of Louis’ mouth, mapping him out with the tiniest of details. He outlined the ripples like they told the secrets of his soul. They kissed through the fierce waves that washed around them, not caring about anything other than the other lips upon theirs.

It did not seem like they had been there for that long, but when they heard the bellowing of Niall from far away, Harry thought that ostensibly they had been gone for longer than they could comprehend in their state. Reluctantly, albeit very tired out, the pair hauled themselves up and made their way back up to the campfire. The fire was dwindling and their mess had been cleared up. Their high was starting to wear off, and so it was time to part ways.

There was no goodbye kiss, no massive declaration of love. All there was was a quick hug shared and no words exchanged. Everyone dispersed, Harry heading up to his van with heavy feet and a thick head. Once he settled into his bed, he did not think once about the various kisses he had shared with Louis. And he doubted that Louis did either.

-|-

The waves had a certain magnificence that weekday afternoon. The tide was in and the sea seemed to go on for forever. After taking a break, bobbing in the middle of the sea with his legs on either side of his board and his bottom balanced on it, Harry was back to competing with the rolling waves. He loved being able to take the action out of his favourite pastime/career and just bask in it. He could float in the centre of his universe without a care in the world. He would be able to see for miles and miles, into the very depths of the sea. He could watch the waves break at their crest, the white foam avalanching down the transparent mountain. Then he would see the remainder of the wave running with itself, towards his board, and he would feel it underneath him. Effectively, Harry would be able to live through a wave’s life and he thought that that was pretty cool.

As the next wave approached, Harry prepared to really test his luck. He had not been able to try anything a little more complex for the past few days, having been teaching novices and the waves lacking that necessary finesse. But now –now was Harry’s time. With his eyes trained on the up-and-coming wave, Harry went into full ‘surf mode’. The rest of the world was not there. Just Harry and the sea. (Harry’s life was pretty much always in ‘surf mode’, actually, but in that moment, nothing else existed at all.)

The first step was to catch the wave, which he did in his classic perfection. He balanced his weight perfectly and skimmed the water expertly. As he had planned, he flicked his board and mastered the trick with the style he was known for. When the wave had broken and none of it was worth continuing with, Harry jumped off his board. He did not have an overwhelming sense of pride in his chest, just a smidgen of content scratching at his lungs.

After a while longer in the sea, performing his finest of surfs on the delicately formed waves, Harry trawled out of his home. Board under arm and hair plastered down, he walked up the beach to the outdoor shower. He was so in his own little world (full of salt and wax) upon approaching the shower that he did not notice the figure sitting on a stolen chair next to him. He started peeling off his wetsuit, the rubber slapping off his tender skin. He did not need to grasp a little courage to face the freezing clean water of the shower as he had been immersed in it not too long before, so he promptly stepped under it once turning it on.

His eyes were shut as the water ran down him. He rubbed at his already pink skin, the water shining on his body obscenely. His long fingers carded through his soaked hair, brushing it backwards off his face. He shook his digits a little, to rid of the salt, spraying droplets outside of the stream coming out of the faucet. He nearly missed it, the meek and choked words, but thankfully the water turned off just in time for him to hear the strained voice.

“Uh- hi,” he heard. He opened his racing green eyes and to the sight of a lounging Louis on the raised platform above the beach. Nobody else was there, the wind being too off-putting to cope with whilst merely trying to eat their scone, just the barista.

“Oh, hi,” Harry replied, with more surprise than charm could hold up. Harry stood awkwardly, bare chest dripping with water and hair smoothed back to make him feel all of exposed. There was a bout of silence, a one of slight awkwardness.

“You’re, err, really great. At surfing. I mean. Not- yeah,” Louis said. Afterwards, Harry could see the mental slap that the boy gave to himself after his stammering response.

“Thanks, mate, means a lot,” Harry smiled sincerely. The wind was starting to nip his skin but he did not move.

“How long have you been surfing for?” Louis inquired. He leant forward, elbows on his knees and chin on his hands.

“Well, I surfed from when I was, like, twelve? But I started doing it as a career when I was seventeen and haven’t really stopped since.”

“Wow, that’s, like, ages,” Louis said, seemingly flabbergasted.

“Yeah, I guess I just caught the surfing bug and could never get rid of it,” he shrugged.

Louis sat in contemplation for a small while, eyes flickering from Harry to the passersby and then to the sea. Suddenly, he spoke, voice full to the brim of hope, “D’you think you could give me a lesson sometime?”

“Er-”

“I mean, I haven’t surfed at all, like, ever. So I’m probably pretty shit, but that’s your job, right? To make me good?” He paused for a second, before continuing, “I’ve always wanted to try it, be one of those proper surfer boys who can do just about anything, but nobody ever wanted to do it with me and I was too broke to afford it.”

“Well-”

“I mean, I’m kinda short so I’d need a much smaller board- wait, do you even have a different sized board for everyone? Maybe I just made that up, I think I might have. All I know is that the wax for the board is called Sex Wax and it smells really nice. Which, really, is kinda a representation of how my mind works but, hey, what can y’do.”

“Uh-”

“Plus, I really want to see what my arse would look like in a wetsuit,” and, okay, Harry really did _not_ need those images... “What do you say?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Harry answered, somewhat perplexed by the rapid talker.

“Great! I mean, I’ll have to wait until I get my next pay check because I spent it all on absolute shite last week, but we’ll definitely arrange it for some time, for sure.”

“I’m sure I could get you a discount or something… Y’know, mates’ rates or whatever that’s called?” Harry murmured. The embers of his eloquence were scattered underneath his tongue.

“Mates’ rates?”

“Sure, why not?” Harry shrugged.

Louis’ face lit up. Harry was blindly unaware that it had more to do with than just the fact that he was getting a reduced price. The squeak of the door went unnoticed, but the screeching (okay, so maybe Harry was exaggerating a little) that followed surely did not. The veil of bonding lifted like the swish of a magician pulling out a tablecloth.

“Oi, Tomlinson, we’ve got customers in here!” Lou shouted.

Louis stood up pin-straight immediately and raised his fingers to his head in an army salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Lou rolled her eyes, as if it was an everyday occurrence for such odd reactions. Her eyes focused in on Harry, a scowl settling on her features instantly. “Have you been disrupting my worker’s virtue again, Mr Styles?”

Harry made a face of aghast, appalled by the accusation.

“Virtue? What virtue?” Harry vaguely heard from Tom’s mouth as he strolled by. In return, there was an offended “Oi!”, but Harry did not take any notice. He carried on battling his glare with Lou’s slit-sized eyes but was pretty sure that he looked as fierce as a kitten.

“Give it up, surfer boy.”

“Never, domestic demon.”

Lou gasped dramatically, “I am _not_ a domestic demon, you little fucker!”

“She says as she mixes _cake batter_ and has a baby monitor in her _apron._ ”

“Well at least I don’t talk fuckin’ shit when I’m high.”

“Wait- you get high while you cook your daily _casserole_?”

“I made a casserole _once!_ ”

“Same difference!”

“No it’s not!”

“Just because you haven’t gotten lai-”

“Children!” Louis interrupted. The bickering came to a halt and all eyes were on the strong voice in between them. “He was offering to give me a surfing lesson, or, well, he accepted my request, but still. So now we can all go back to what we were doing and stop _bickering like five year olds._ ”

“Pssh, you want a surfing lesson from Harry? You’ll drown!”

“What?! That was only because you didn’t tell me that you couldn’t swim; it wasn’t my fault!”

“It so was! You should have asked that vital question before we went out into the fuckin’ sea!”

“I just assumed that-”

“When you assume, you, make an ass, out of-”

“-me, yeah, I get it, stop stealing lines from 8 Simple Rules and get some originality.”

“At least I have _some_ sense of-”

And then Louis was pushing Lou back into the café and drowning out her incessant whining. Just before he left, he stuck his head out of the door and called a quick, “see ya, Hitch!”

So that was that.

-|-

It was Nick’s birthday and, in true Nick style, he had demanded a ‘surprise party that I know about but I’ll pretend I don’t so I can act like I’m a thirteen year old girl who has just seen her first pre-pubescent cock.’ And what Nick wants, Nick generally gets (within certain boundaries, obviously).

So Caroline had organised just about everything and Harry had not had to do much at all (he literally did shit all). There had been a few rules set down by Nick before he had trusted them with his bash: 1) It had to be on the beach 2) There could be no trace or utterance of his age on the night itself 3) There had to be Pimms 4) He was absolutely not being sung happy birthday in any way, shape, or form.

Of course, Caroline had protested a bit at number four because Olly and she always did the best rendition of Stevie Wonder’s _Happy Birthday_ to whomever’s birthday it was. But Nick had made his decision and, well, Harry thought that he would probably cope without hearing that _screeching_ for once.

So there Harry was, in the middle of the party, thriving in it. Honestly, there was something about the situation which just made him let go of everything. A small section of the beach was decked out with tables full of alcohol. Niall had, somehow, driven his car as close to the party as possible and blasted the music towards them. He beamed the headlights into the centre of the party, and, really, it looked pretty amazing. There were people everywhere, milling around, dancing, drinking, smoking, and making absolute fools of themselves. But nobody cared. Nobody gave a flying fuck when Zayn and Liam started grinding and humping on the makeshift dance floor so much that they had to take a break from the party to go behind the rocks. Nobody could give a shit when Weird Aimee puked in the hole where Fit Aiden and Fit Aiden’s Matt were buried in by Caroline’s Olly and Dixy Pixie. And thankfully, nobody cared when Harry fell face first into a lounging Nick’s crotch and decided to have a little rest.

Okay, so maybe Harry had gone overboard on the Pimms, and the vodka, and the Jack Daniels, and the apple Sourz, and that one that was bright green and tasted like the smell of what his chemistry lab in school smelt like. He just could not help himself. He did not have any scheduled sessions the next day so he could get plastered if he wanted to. Vaguely, he wondered if things would have been this good if he was back where he used to live. Probably not.

Harry had once heard that when you are drunk, your mental capability goes first, then your physical. So, he thought, that was probably why he _should not_ have been talking to Louis while he was in that state. But somehow, his mind did not seem to be able to register that. Like a square hole trying to fit into a round one, he could not seem to see sense.

Harry though that the air was exceptionally thick around them, although that may have just been the buzzing in his ears. Louis’ caramel hair must have been styled to perfection beforehand, because now there were only remnants of wasted time gelled in between the strands. Harry thought that it looked nice, extremely nice, anyway. He looked the epitome of dishevelled. Messy hair was sticking upwards, making his eyes ‘pop’ and steal Harry’s attention. They, his eyes, were glistening with enjoyment, enthusiasm, and full of energy. His skin had a slight sheen to it, a glazing of sweat over his rosy pink cheeks. Louis’ lips were stained with drink and spit, shining temptingly and looking entirely biteable. His bottom lip especially: it was like a little plump cushion draped in a luxurious red silk blanket that Harry wanted to sink himself into.

There were other people around them, some that Harry did not know, and some that he did. None of them seemed to capture his attention like Louis did, but Harry just put that down to the drink and Louis’ bubbly personality. That was all.

Suddenly, the HarryAndLouis bubble that Harry had squeezed himself into was popped by a gangly arm wrapping around his shoulders. Harry was a little bit slow anyway, and so having an alcohol fuzz around his senses, it took him a while to realise that he had to react to whoever it was. Meanwhile, he just about noticed that Louis had straightened up a little, but thought nothing of it.

“’arryyyyy, I want to do somethin’ fuuuuun,” it was Nick, evidently.

“Niiiiiick, fuck offfff,” Harry imitated with one of his charming smiles.

Nick ignored him and continued to slur in his ear, “I wanna play somethin’ kiddy.”

“What d’you mean ‘kiddy’?”

“Like- like, Never Have I Ever or Truth Or Dare or, like, sardines or some shit.”

“Sardines? On the beach?” Harry heard Louis say. He glanced over to see his hand on his hip and his lips pursed. Sassy. Harry liked it.

“I’m up for Truth or Dare?” Harry said, question in his tone. He looked around at the gathering around him to see various signs of approval. The general consensus then led to the howling of “time for Truth or Dare, motherfuckers” from Nick right in Harry’s ear, and therefore a slap in the balls courtesy of Harry to the birthday boy.

Everyone gathered in a circle. Harry was beside Liam, who he was surprised to see after his and Zayn’s little escapade beforehand. On his left was Ed, who’s generally cool and laid back aura made drunk-harry want to lie on him and soak up all of his cool-ness.

They went through a few rounds before anything impacted Harry. There was a kiss between Niall and Scary Cher. Gorgeous George licked Model Josh’s ear, who, unsurprisingly, kinda liked it. Long-Neck Marvin ended up downing the remainders of the vodka. Gay Rylan broke into a fierce rendition of Tragedy, actions and all, but that was not a dare, just pure self-indulgence. Harry nearly had to give Zayn the best love bite he could, but then Liam put on his disappointed eyebrows and took the role himself. Harry found out that Geordie Perrie and Geordie Jade got each other off once in school and that Eyebrows Cara and Singing Rita loved sleeping naked together. Neither of them were particularly ground breaking, to be honest, although they probably would be if Harry was not quite so intoxicated.

It was not until the bottle spun onto Louis that things for Harry started to change up. The usual chorus of ‘oooh’ cannoned around the circle, and then Nick asked him the vital question. Louis’ appearance was so open. He was opposite to Harry in the circle, his legs out in front of him and his hands holding him up behind his back. Harry wanted to settle in between his legs and lean back against his chest. His thoughts, though, turned from innocent pretty quickly when he thought about how he could rock back a bit and brush his - kinda nonexistent – arse against Louis’-

“Dare.”

Again, the circle ‘oooh’d dramatically. Nick pondered for a while, fingers tapping on his chin. All he needed was a cat, Harry thought, and he could look like a creepy leader of the dark side.

“I dare you to...” Nick’s eyes lit up, “skinny dip!”

Louis’ jaw dropped. “What?!” he squawked.

“You heard me; I dare you to go skinny dipping, right here, right now,” Nick smirked, or leered, if you look at it the other way. Harry was looking at it the other way, so he kinda wanted to slap the look off his face, to be honest.

“But it’s fuckin’ freezin’!”

“Kinda the point, mate,” the quiffed man said condescendingly.

Louis scowled, his pretty blue eyes narrowing. “Fine, but I’ll only do it if I can take someone with me. I am _not_ facing _that_ alone.”

“Sure, whatever, princess, just get ya’ kit off,” Nick leaned back, waiting. And, yeah, Harry did want to kinda punch him in the balls.

Harry was so focused on directing his unexpected and instant rage at Nick that he did not realise the small feet padding across the centre of the circle. He was only drawn out of himself when there was a tugging on his windswept hair. His glassy eyes looked up and pinned onto a pair of- what colour did Harry call them, again? Oh- that was it- Coffee Blues. A cheeky smirk was on the boy’s lips, a tongue running over a set of gleaming white teeth, and his head was cocked to the side.

“C’mon then, Hitch, get strippin’.”

Harry’s eyes widened, shock still ever-present in his drunken state. “Me?” he asked slowly.

Louis rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “yes, you.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, wordless. His mind was already infected by alcohol, and now it was mottled with total and utter confusion.  “You’re- you want- I-”

“Oh just get your fuckin’ cock out, Styles, and get in that shit-cold water already, I’m startin’ to sober up ‘ere,” Nick called from across the circle, crudely.

“C’mon, Hitch. Or are you too scared to?” Louis taunted daringly, his hand on his hip.

“What- I’m not scared!”

“Then get the fuck up and get naked with me!” Louis interrupted quickly, but soon looked a little sheepish when he realised what he had technically said. However, the words seemed to have an effect on Harry as he was up in a flash. He pulled off his hoodie and stumbled out of his shoes ungraciously. Before setting off, he snatched the drink from Liam’s hand and downed it in one. Oh so elegantly, Louis and he started to sprint down to the sea, shedding various items of clothing along the way.

Harry took a little longer to peel off his boxers, what with his elongated legs and flipper feet, so he was given a grand showing of the back of Louis’ naked body. And what a show it was, honestly. He was so petite, so small, yet he was full of such _strength._ His shoulders, so strong and structured they were. His thighs, hard with muscle were the size of the tip of Harry’s finger to the turquoise veins of his wrist. A small band of fat cuddled his hipbones deliciously, his silhouette curving beautifully in front of the moon.  His skin was hard to see in the pitch black, but the moonlight trickled down the knobs of his spine and the creases down his back. It illuminated the golden expanse so gorgeously, like the sand on a Hawaiian beach running on forever and ever.

And his arse, God, his arse. It was, most probably, the best arse Harry had seen in his whole life. It was firm and round and just _perfect._

But then Louis’ body was recoiling and a feminine squeal was tripping out of his throat. Harry could feel a cackle brewing just below his ribs and could not stop it from piercing the quiet air. Louis looked behind and saw Harry’s amused face. His eyes flickered. Harry pretended not to notice to keep his own embarrassment at bay. Harry did not really care that he was naked in front of this boy he hardly knew, and it was not just the alcohol doing that. He could not find it in him to be embarrassed of his body; he supposed that tale he told to the sea had stopped any insecurities years ago.

“It’s fuckin’ freezing!” Louis yelped as a wave trundled up to bite at his toes teasingly. Harry just laughed even more, it was like the can of laughter had been cracked open and he was in the initial fizzing moments where the cackles overflowed unrestrainedly.

“C’mon, it’s not even that bad, mate,” Harry shrugged, a bubble of a chuckle popping out of his lips as he remembered the reaction.

“I’d like to see you try and go in it and not react exactly the same!”

“Is that a challenge, Coffee Boy?” Harry asked, eyes narrowed.

Louis smirked, “I think it might just be.”

Without letting himself think, Harry turned around and started walking backwards into the water. He was used to the cold on his feet, so the gritting of his teeth and clenched jaw did not start until the water was lapping at his calves.

“See, it’s fine,” he murmured through a grimace. Louis looked at him suspiciously, warily sticking his toe in the water and wincing at the coldness.

Harry grumbled under his breath and then surged forward. He grabbed Louis by his biceps and hauled him into the sea. The smaller boy screamed as he lost his balance and was immersed in ice cold water. A round head bobbed up from the water, hair slicked down with a blanket of water. Louis spluttered a little and swiped his hair from his eyes, blinking rapidly.

“You,” Louis breathed in deeply, “are such a fuckin’ twat.”

Harry just cackled happily and ran further into the sea. He was aware that he now probably looked even more stupid than he already did, what with being naked in the sea not exactly being the norm, but he was drunk and he was naked and he was in the sea with Coffee Boy.

Harry was spinning around in the freezing water contentedly. He was at the centre of his handmade whirlpool. The water was sloppily circling his skin, going around and around and never stopping. He was pleased with his messing around and unaware of the lingering boy behind him. Alas, his calm was broken by a-

Well, a wet naked body on his back, basically.

Louis had jumped on his back, slick skin upon skin. When Harry remembered the feeling later on, he could feel each pore upon his. The skin was soft, as far as he could remember, and yielding on his back. The body was red hot, scalding his numbed skin with a ferocious heat. He felt like he had been branded all over his back with _louislouislouis,_ but he did not object. The tender fingertips of the sea soothed the burns with careful touches, tending to the strawberry red gashes to turn them into mellow passion fruit slices.

They had, of course, ended up submerged in the water in a tangle of limbs. If Harry was not so disorientated and did not have a smaller body underneath his marshmallow limbs, he would have kept his head under water for so long. He wanted to experience that world, the one which felt like the perfect home to him. It was like a sedative to his racing mind, the voice of an angel lulling him into serenity. Unfortunately, the time for such activities was not that moment, so he was pushed up to the surface with great force. He burst into the midnight air gallantly (not by choice – the water felt a lot more comforting than the air) and was quickly followed by a soaked Louis. Emeralds and sapphires met for a quick greeting, and then creased at the edges in a burst of laughter. The sea was numbing, but Louis’ laugh was like a flame in his heart.

They floated for a little while, watching the melted horizon and distant cities of stars. Harry felt like he was miles away from where he actually was. He was still in the sea, but he was on his own little water island. It was a painting created with skilful fingertips and fine brushes. It was a symphony with the perfect harmonies and perfectly tuned strings. It was a poem with the deepest meanings threaded through every word, every syllable. Rocks lined the edges, creating a tranquil little cove for him to bask in. The water turned into a mirror, reflecting the grandeur that the moon prided itself with. The waves were convex, rippling, melted silver, encompassing his skin with a warmth that can only be formed in one’s imagination. It buried itself in his pores, little fires dwindling, yet burning just enough to feel like a sunburnt snake wrapping around his neck. The world was ‘it’ for Harry; impossibly perfect.

And even though Harry did not have his board to keep him grounded, there was something else which kept him pretty safe. It kept the pit of his stomach anchored to the sandbank. Its colour was Coffee Blue.

“We should probably get out of here before we catch a cold,” Louis mused softly. Harry looked over. His portrait was magnificent. Truly.

“Yeah,” Harry replied noncommittally, making no move to leave.

His hand swept through the water and emerged somewhat inconspicuously. Grains of water slipped through the spaces between his fingers, trickling back into their home with little dripping noises. It reached out and cradled Louis’ sodden skull. He could feel the bumps of the bones underneath his palm and in the creases of his fingers.

And then it pulled the boy in closer and connected their lips. Both of their lips were cold and chapped, rubbing against each other to create a fire in their bellies. It was a lot less tentative than last time and Harry’s lips were unsealed almost immediately. Louis tasted of the sea, and he felt like it, too.

The pads of Louis’ thumbs rubbed circled on his bony hips under the water. Harry’s hand slipped down Louis’ neck and toyed with the fine hairs there, twirling them around his thin fingertips and tugging the skin into peaks. It then smoothed its way over the slippery skin of Louis’ back to press into the curve of his lower back. The heel of his hand dug into the flesh indulgently and a shiver ran all the way from Louis’ neck to Harry’s hand.

And then suddenly, Harry’s whole body was pressed against Louis’. Louis’s fingers had tightened around the jut of his hip, but Harry had only thought that that was because his tongue had curled around Louis’ oh so expertly. Evidently, that was not the case, and it was all a ploy to plaster their bodies together, with only a thin sheen of water as a barrier. His skin erupted in tiny goosebumps, his back rippling with _skin_ and _touch_ and _heat._ He could feel everything with every cell in his body, from the depths of the creeks to the water slicked paleness of his skin.

Their lips kept moving together, bruised and swollen berry plumps sponging together and salty tongues brushing off each other. It was lazy and lethargic until Louis’ naked crotch shifted between the waves. There was a prod at the bone of Harry’s hip, and all awareness did a panning zoom across from the stars to the bodies underneath the rippling surface.

Because underneath the murky water, underneath the bobbing waves, Louis was hard against Harry’s skin. And, well, that was just a bit _wow._

It was only then, with the hard head of Louis’ cock rubbing up against his slightly numbed skin, that Harry realised that he was well on the way to matching his kissing partner’s state. Instinctively, he pushed into the slight body. The friction was overwhelming. Harry bit down on Louis’ lip harshly in reaction, causing the other boy to hiss a little and pull away. His plump lip pinged back into place, incredibly thick and lick-able.

Louis’ damp forehead rested on Harry’s, and he muttered into the Harry’s clammy skin, “Well, Hitch, this is new.”

Harry scoffed, “Yeah, just a bit,” he replied quietly.

“Think I kinda like it, though,” Louis mused, his eyes closed softly.

“Mhmm,” he murmured back. And with that, words died upon their tongues and passion flared in their stomachs.

Louis locked his ankle around Harry’s strong calf, pulling them even closer. He hitched his body up a little, his cock rubbing off Harry more forcefully. Harry’s dick was caught in between their bodies, not rubbing with intention but getting the friction it needed to cause his insides to squirm erotically. Their lips pressed together and moved in a lethargic manner, sloppy with obscene noises.

Harry’s large hand smoothed around Louis’ waist discreetly, long fingers wrapping around the soft skin and tips digging careful trenches. The smaller boy’s cock suddenly dragged over the rough skin of Harry’s knuckles, desperate. Suddenly, Harry’s hand reached out and grabbed the weeping cock head. It was hot and hard in his palm. The gasp that pulled itself from Louis’ mouth along the vine between the pair of them tasted delicious on Harry’s tongue. It was full of want and need.

As Harry started pumping his hand up and down Louis’ shaft, the boy’s head dropped to Harry’s strong shoulders. His breath steamed up Harry’s skin, clouded it with pleasure. Everything was at scorching heat around them. Louis kept bucking up into Harry’s fist, and Harry’s cock rubbed in between them gorgeously. Tampered breaths passed between them, small moans tumbling from between bitten lips haphazardly. The waves pushed their bodies closer together and stroked their skin gently. It only intensified everything that was happening. Harry was in ecstasy.

Tufts of moans turned into mountainous groans, all rough around the edges and their jagged edges heading straight to the base of Harry’s cock. For the first time, the sea was not Harry’s first priority. In fact, it was pretty far behind. All he was focused on was the heated skin in his hand and increasing the toe curling noises that Louis was making.

Louis’ fingernails nipped at Harry’s skin as the boy started to tremor in slight. He was mumbling nonsensical babble under his breath, profanities spurting out unrestrainedly. Harry pulled back the foreskin that had been slipping up and down rapidly with every pump of his fist, and swept his thumb over the tip. He could barely feel anything in his fingertips due to the coldness of the water, but he definitely could feel the way that Louis’ body tensed and he came suddenly beneath Harry’s rough pads.

Louis threw his head back in pure bliss. The moonlight shone on his features, highlighting the parting of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, and every bump of his throat. His skin looked so soft and delightful that Harry could not resist surging forwards and latching his lips onto a small patch of skin. Louis was still up on his high and so let Harry nip at his skin until a cherry coloured stain blossomed belatedly. Harry felt himself murmuring utterances of awe into the blooming spot, words like _stunning_ and _gorgeous_ and _so fucking hot._

But then a vigorous wave shook his body and brought his attention back to himself, rather than the sated boy plastered to his body. The throbbing in his cock was growing increasingly as he watched Louis fall apart in his hands. Automatically, he wrapped his hand around his own erection, sighing contentedly as the pressure was relieved, if only in slight. The tip of his cock still kept bumping off Louis’ bones, sparking a rush of heat through the thick vein running down to the base. His teeth were hooked around his bottom lip and his eyes were hooded.

“You- you want some help with that?” Louis asked breathlessly. Harry cracked his eyes open, yet instead of a coherent answer spilling from his lips, an uninhibited moan ripped through his throat as Louis curled his fingers above Harry’s. His thumb overlapped Harry’s and moved them together in sync, the warmth overwhelming him.

“You think you can come for me, Hitch?” Louis asked roughly, voice thick with seductiveness.

Harry stuttered out an agreement and bent down to reach Louis’ shoulder. He sunk his teeth into the muscular skin, groaning in relief as he finally came. The tension leaked out his body and he slumped into Louis’ arms. Both of them had shaky limbs and fuzzy heads. All that was heard was their laboured breathing and the crashing of the waves. A serenity veil settled over the flowing waves and wrapped around their legs comfortably. It sunk up their veins and took over all of their bodies.

“I don’t think I can feel my legs,” Louis said, chewing his bottom lip.

“Yeah, me neither...” replied Harry, his head falling to the side and resting against the top of Louis’.

“We should probably go back up; they’re probably packing up by now.”

“Yeah, probably...”

“I can’t feel my toes. I don’t think I can walk. You’ve ruined me,” Louis exaggerated, standing still in his position. His moving lips and warm breath hitting Harry’s skin was the only movement in his system.

“That’s a bit extreme,” Harry drawled.

“Yeah, well, if there’s one thing you should know about me, Hitch, it’s that I am kinda extreme.” There was something behind Louis’ tone which Harry would have taken notice of if he was not on a sex-high, nor a little drunk.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he replied simply.

“Nah, just not everyone’s cup of tea, I guess,” Louis shrugged.

“I’m not everyone.”

“No, you really aren’t,” Louis rubbed his head against Harry’s cheek, not really thinking about what he was doing. There was a bout of silence, and then the distant calling of their names.

“I think they’re calling for us,” Harry stated.

“Yeah, we should go.”

“Probably...”

Eventually, they struck up the energy to traipse back up the beach. They collected their clothing along the way, pulling them over their wet bodies and making the material stick to them uncomfortably. Neither passed comment to the other about what had happened, not even when sly remarks were sent their way through Honest Finchy or Dumb Laura. It did not even cross Harry’s mind as he settled into his bed that night. It was just something that had happened.  The sea had overpowered it already.

-|-

Caspar’s fluffy little legs stretched out behind him after he had bounded out of the van. He shook his fur as he came in contact with the overcast air. He looked up at Harry with big brown eyes, full of awe and adoration. Harry muttered a reply to his questioning eyes, telling him to wait for a few seconds while he got his lead. There was every chance that the dog did not understand what he was saying, but his voice must have been comforting enough as Caspar perched on the rough ground.

Harry snatched the packet of treats that got Caspar into a bit of a frenzy every time he heard the crackle of the foil. As expected, the small dog perked up excitedly, his fluffy head nudging at Harry’s legs to get his attention. The weather looked a little dodgy, but Harry could not be bothered for the heavy coat weighing down his bones. He grabbed a hoodie and slid the van door closed.

“C’mon, Casp,” Harry said to the distracted dog who was staring out into the distance absentmindedly, his tiny paw lifted in the air for no apparent reason. Honestly, Harry didn’t know what was going on in that dog’s brain half the time. Half of it was fluff and the rest was a jumble of _sleep, walk, eat, and repeat._

However, his owner’s calls seemed to grasp a sliver of his attention and he trotted along Harry’s side happily. Because of a very awkward and mortifying situation where Caspar had wee’d on a baby’s pram on his way down to the beach, Harry had made sure to click his lead onto his collar while they were not on his home ground. Caspar did not seem to mind; he was quite content with being dragged around for a bit. He was an odd dog, but entirely loveable.

Eventually, after many stops for sniffs and excretions, they reached the golden grains of sand. Immediately, once Harry had released Caspar’s lead from his collar and patted the small of his curved back, the little dog had bounded off in his own little world. His legs moved faster than ever, racing through the sand in circles. Sometimes he stopped to sniff at the seaweed, but a scalding word from Harry made him scuttle away. Thankfully, all Harry had to do was plonk himself on some of the soft sand and keep one eye on the somewhat mischievous animal.

That one-eye skill came in extremely handy when the star of those infamous Coffee Blue eyes trudged through the silky sand towards him. Harry sent him a nod and a closed-lip smile as he approached a little closer. His caramel frosting hair was styled to perfection, small tufts gelled up, and his fringe was sculpted with careful fingers. His cheeks were dusted with pink sprinkles upon his butter cream skin. Glacé cherry painted lips pouted as the breeze licked their sweetness. His nimble body was covered in black work clothes, tan exposed skin straining at the hem of his shirt. Harry ogled the curvy frame shamelessly, yet did not adorn any of it to the pin board of his mind.

The figure settled beside him quietly, not saying anything. He did not even mutter a greeting, which, for someone Harry actually barely knew, was surprising. Louis was always talking; there was always something he had to say. It was endearing, instead of annoying. Harry had to admit, he did find it hard to keep up with the fast-talker, especially with his slow drawl, but the opposites seemed to click together. Louis’s circle fit Harry’s square.

“You alright?” Harry asked, glancing towards his scrawny pet. Caspar was rolling around in the sand, playing some game where he flipped around on his back and got sand ingrained into his soft curls. Harry was oh-so-happy about that; not.

“I’m great, thanks, you?” replied Louis with a small smile.

“I’m good, yeah,” Harry said, nodding. There was a pause as the two of them looked out at the sea, at the beach, at the people. “What’re you doing here? D’you not have work? Or has Lou loosened her reigns a bit?”

Louis snickered, fireworks in his blue eyes as he looked at Harry. “Nah, I just finished. Lou gave me the rest of the day off, said I should get back before it rains.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

The strings tied around Harry’s eyebrows pulled together, furrowing confusedly. “So why’re you here then?”

“Because you’re here.”

Louis spoke like it was the simplest thing to say, the most obvious answer.

Harry tried not to think about it.

They chatted aimlessly about idle topics. It felt like they were on the edges of a campfire. There was something between them that Harry could not distinguish, did not want to distinguish. It was hot and fierce; it kept licking his skin tauntingly, warningly. Each time the searing tongue scorched his pale skin, his mind took a hypothetical step back automatically. Why? Harry really did not know, and did not want to. His head was a bit of a mess anyway, he did not want to even rearrange his bookshelf of memories because he would only find something which caused him to dive under cumbersome waves. So he ignored it, like he did with most mind-and-feeling related things.

Harry could remember a time when he was not so restricted with his emotions, when he consulted them and dealt with them. But he also remembered the time when he stopped all of that bullshit. He could not be who he was if he wanted a new life, and so his emotions went out the window along with the rest of his life, and in came the beach.

It was not long until specks of rain fell from the sky. Harry had, stupidly, thought that the dark cloud would hold off until he was safely back in his van. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The grey shelves in the sky started crumbling above him; first, the dust sprinkling down, then the rest caving in one large gush.

“Fuck, my hair,” was the first thing that Louis said as the water droplets fell rapidly. Harry let out a loud cackle, one that was somewhat humiliating, and then slapped his hand over his mouth to restrain his laughter. Louis had looked at him with wide, amused eyes, and  immediately broke out into giggles. (The wind whispered: adorable.)

“Shut up, I spent ages on this!” Louis whined, smacking Harry’s arm and pouting cutely. (Harry wanted to slap himself, preferably with his surfboard, because, no, he was _not_ the type to call a boy _cute_ , like, ever _._ )

“Why?” Harry asked at the ludicrous notion, “you work in _Crusoe’s,_ it’s not exactly the fucking Ivy.”

The rain was hammering down and yet neither seemed interested in moving. Casper toddled up to them, hair soaking and darker in colour. He rubbed against Harry’s leg to catch his attention, asking to be lifted up. Again, he was a strange dog. He loved the sea, and yet did not like the rain. He refused to walk in it. Harry thought that it might have been something to do with his hair getting all tatty in the rain, or his soft skin getting hurt. Actually, Caspar and Louis were pretty similar in that sense- but Harry was not going to think about that. Harry picked up Caspar and buddle his frail body under his arm, gesturing for Louis to follow him as he started walking.

“Well I might want to impress someone!” Louis said, swiping his soaked hair back.

“There’s hardly anyone here to impress. Everyone here’s got some weird thing about them; you can’t have not noticed that by now.”

“Well, who says I don’t like weird? I might like weird. Weird could be my favourite. You don’t know me,” Louis quipped back, almost defensively.

“Woah, hold up, mate. I’m not saying anything bad about being weird; fuck, _I live in a_ van. I think I specify as at least a little bit weird just for that. And I’m not saying I know you, I’m just saying that it’s probably a wasted effort because most of the people here won’t even notice, everyone’s kinda a prick and-”

“Did you notice?”

Harry was stumped a little at the interruption. “Uhm, well, yeah, I did, actually. But that’s not the point-”

“Holy shit, your van is so fucking _cool,_ ” Louis exclaimed as they approached Harry’s van. He ran his hands over the wet paintwork in awe, drawing patterns through the droplets of water trickling down the window. And that, it seemed, was the end of that conversation.

“Thanks. It’s kinda my pride and joy, to be honest,” Harry admitted. He unlocked it and slid the door open, somewhat throwing Caspar into the inside quickly and jumping in behind him. He grabbed the distracted boy’s hand and hoyed him into the van, slamming the door shut quickly to stop the English rain intruding. Harry grabbed a towel and threw it at Louis’ head, causing a squawk of surprise to follow a wide-eyed expression. Harry just, childishly, stuck his tongue out at him and started rubbing Caspar’s fur with his doggy towel.

Once all of their hair was only damp at the roots and fluffed to the tips, they settled on Harry’s bed comfortably. There was the pattering of the rain, the breaths being deployed from heavy chests. There was the blowing of the heater and the murmur of the radio, yet no true words spoken. Harry pulled out his box of cigarettes, offering the box to Louis once a tab was resting softly between the cushions of his lips. Louis had taken one with a grateful smile and a sweep of his fringe. Harry watched the way the thin cylinder sat between his thin lips so comfortably, unaware of its fate. Harry lit his own, taking a drag and blowing out a relieved plume of smoke, and shuffled over to Louis. He held the lighter up against the cigarette end, watching the light catch and orange infect the bland colours ferociously. He stayed close as the boy breathed in and then blew out expertly, a stream of grey trickling through a pillowed pink cave.

Harry had settled back in his place when Louis spoke. He always seemed to be the first to speak, never the first to fizzle out. He always seemed to be burning with some kind of interest, some kind of passion. It was fascinating to see someone so laidback, yet so immersed in everything around them. Harry assumed that Louis was like that with everyone and everything, always attentive and wide Coffee Blue eyed.

“I wanna know you, Hitch.”

And, okay, that was a little ambiguous. Harry decided to take it in the simplest form, the easiest one to answer. His interpretation held no meaning, no depth. It was like the ever-creeping shallow depths of a wave, the foam which stuck to the sand and held no use to anyone.

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure you already do,” Harry said slowly.

Louis rolled his blue eyes, the ones which never dulled, not even in the dreary weather. Harry wondered what could be the lethal injection of grey that would set their daylight into dead dusk. _Well,_ Harry thought, _I’m in a philosophical mood._

“I meant like _know_ know you, like, get to know you, get to know who _Hitch_ really is underneath that whole surfer image deal that you have going on.” Louis clicked his fingers and Caspar jumped up from his spot on the floor to curl under his arm. He mewled quietly as Louis’ fingers tangled in the mound of hair on his head, captivating brown eyes disappearing under his eyelids. Well, then.

“What if ‘that surfer image deal I have going on’ is just who I am?” Harry asked, squinting and blowing out softly.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” Louis said definitively.

“What, are you some kind of hidden psychologist underneath this whole coffee boy deal?” Harry retorted, mimicking Louis’ words.

Louis gave him _that_ kind of look, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes with something dancing near the walls of his rock pool eyes. “ _No_ , I’d never be a good psychologist, I talk too much, _obviously._ But it’s pretty obvious that there’s more to you than just that.”

“How? I think I look pretty bog-standard.”

“You have layers,” Louis said, like it was obvious. He did that a lot.

“Layers?” Harry replied, tone and expression drenched in amusement.

“ _Yes,_ layers. Do you really want me to recite _Shrek_ to you? Donkey tells Shrek that he has layers, that he’s like an onion-”

“Wait- are you calling me an ogre? I mean, I’ve been called some pretty shit things before but this-”

“- and that there’s more to him than just being a big, green, scary ogre. There’s more to you than just being a surfer boy with a massive mane of hair. Just like there’s more to me than being an over-talkative little shit.”

“Like Donkey?”

“That’s just rude, mate.”

“You called me an ogre!”

“Shh, you’re missing the point and changing the subject. Two things which don’t really get us anywhere, so I hereby take charge of the situation,” Louis exclaimed oddly, holding one hand up and resting the other over his heart like he was taking an oath. The oath of making a prat out of himself, Harry thought cruelly (or maybe fondly, but he did definitely did not let that count as a truth scratch in his book).

Louis pondered for a while on his plan of action. Harry took the diminishing cigarette from between his fingers and stubbed it out along with his in the ash tray, the action going straight over the engrossed boy’s head. “Right, okay, it’s decided. We, Hitch, are going to play a very intense game of WhoWhatWhenWhereWhy,” he said.

“WhoWhatWhenWhereWhy?” Harry asked.

“Yes. I ask you one of those and then you ask me back. Simple.” He replied. He said it like the game had been around for centuries, when in fact Harry had never heard of it before. Caspar stood up and stretched, yawning tiredly so that his pink tongue stretched out. Louis looked entirely amused by the action and his eyes gleamed. “So, _who_ are you, Hitch?”

Harry replied into intensely interested eyes, “uhm, I’m Harry Styles?”

Louis nodded in approval, like he accepted Harry’s name. “Okay, now you ask me back.”

“Who are you?” Harry asked cautiously, not sure on what he was actually doing.

“I am Louis Tomlinson. _What_?”

Harry looked at him confusedly, “uh, a human?”

Louis burst out into infectious giggles, little butterflies fluttering out of his mouth carrying smiles on their wings and settling calmly on Harry’s tongue. “No, you idiot, what you do, not what you are! Although, I’ll admit, I’m glad you are a human, it makes things a lot easier...” Louis looked as if he was actually considering a situation where Harry was not human, his face blooming with humour at his own joke.

Harry blushed underneath his already pinked skin. “Uh, well, I’m a surfer and I give surfing lessons. But you already know that, so...”

“D’unt matter! I’m a barista at this cute little seaside café. I make a mean coffee, you should drop by and try it sometime,” Louis said, winking lewdly. “Hmm, what’s next? Oh- when were you born? Like, how old are you?”

“1st of February 1992; so 21, basically. You?”

“Ouch, you’re a young’un,” Louis said, wincing, “24th of December 1990, so I’m 23.”

“It’s not _that_ young in comparison to you!”

“Tomato, tomahto,” Louis shrugged, “Where are you from originally?”

“Cheshire, you?”

“The lovely, serene, idyllic town of Doncaster,” Louis said sarcastically. He rested the side of his head on the window beside him. His midnight pupils locked onto a droplet making its journey down its transparent wall. It steered itself through the busy streets, suddenly crashing into another ball of water, fusing with it into a bigger, stronger droplet. It carried on its journey, unaffected. “ _Why_ did you move here?”

Harry gulped heavily. He could feel the fuse in his brain breaking, first little drips and then an alarmingly fast gush. Heat leaked into the vents of his mind, curling around the back of his eyes and sticking its curious fingers into the canals of his ears. A delicate veil was draped over his eyes with painstaking care. Tiny little air particles patted it down around his emerald rings. Together, a ball bundled together in his throat, lodging itself their comfortably with sharp nails clinging to the aching walls behind the skin of his neck. His cheekbones felt like they were being injected with lead ever so slowly, the fat of his cheeks melting away.

Harry was not one to get emotional, of that was relatively obvious. But sometimes, sometimes that barrier had its immunities. The injection of words that Harry had fed himself could only work with certain parts of life. This, was not one of those.

He blinked rapidly with eyelids that felt like they had been coated in sticky honey. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, thick and dry. He could feel himself staring into the distance, yet he could not see anything. Everything was clouded with the past, and Harry hated it.

Louis’ voice did not act like the sponge it needed to be, did not clean the path for his thoughts in the murky windows of his mind. All it was was a sharp sting of the present piercing through the heated fuzz. “You alright?” Harry vaguely heard. Was he underwater? Under a wave and holding his breath until his lungs burned around the edges? It felt like it.

“Uh-“ Harry murmured, disorientated. He shook his head, effectively clearing his head as much as he could. “I- uh- sorry, I just- yeah.” His eyes widened and he ran a hand over his face, breathing out shakily. “It’s just- touchy subject, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I get it, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, I mean, it’s none of my business anyway, so. We can just move on if you like, like, I don’t want to upset you just because I pry too much. I mean, we hardly know each other, so-“

 “17th of December. It was a car crash; a drunken lorry driver turned the wrong way and hit the car head on. My mum went through the windshield, and the airbag failed to open on my sister’s seat; they died upon impact. So, yeah, didn’t really have a reason to stay in Cheshire after that.”

Everything seemed to settle into silence. Every noise that had an impact on his ears beforehand had just become a wall of nothing. The words were in the air, dark and cloaked in a black silk. The black cloud that bloomed in his chest as soon as Louis asked _why_ was now looming deafeningly in the air. Harry was staring down at his fingers, the only thing he was in control of. He felt exposed all over, like another patch of skin had been peeled off with every heart-wrenching word, like all of the feelings and emotions that were etched in his flesh were revealed to everyone. He hated it.  

Harry did not dare to look at Louis. It was not that the boy would judge him, not that Harry would care if he did, but there was something holding him back from seeing his reaction. He hardly ever ducked out from under his surfer image; almost all of his body was stitched to it. But Louis was picking away at the thread with his sharp Coffee Blue eyes, and Harry was not sure what to think about that.

“Hitch...” Louis said softly. There was so much emotion in his voice, all the emotions which Harry should have wanted, should have been looking for. Louis was the perfect candidate for sympathy and softness and all of that malarkey, what with his honesty and just general kindness. But for some reason, Harry did not want that. Maybe deep down he did want, but on the surface, all he wanted to do was shy back in on his emotions and go back to the Harry that was Hitch to Louis.

“No, just- don’t pity me, alright? It’s just life, there’s nothing you can do.” Harry finally looked up as he spoke. As expected, Louis’ eyes were full to the brim with emotion. His expression was gentle and his lips were downturned. Evidently, it was obvious that Harry was fighting furiously to build up his walls again, as Louis looked even more upset when Harry stared back at him. He moved Caspar into the warm wake of his body as he crawled over the mattress, closer to Harry. (Caspar ended up scuttling into the front of the van, curling closer to the heater and sighing contentedly.)

His hand reached into Harry’s hair, not even hesitantly. His fingers tangled in his curls and rubbed at his skull. Short nails scratched his skin, a sigh of relief falling from Harry’s lips as the tension seemed to leak out of his bones. He rested his forehead on Harry’s and they both closed their eyes. There was a light sweep of Louis’ eyelashes across his skin, almost too light to feel.

“I don’t want to see you sad,” Louis murmured. Harry opened his eyes. Instinctively, Louis opened his, too. Blue and green. Sapphire and emerald. The sky and the grass. Sincere and upset. The sea and Harry.

“I’m not; I don’t need anyone. I’m fine on my own,” he replied defensively. The gates were just about to close, but the lock was stuck in its place.

Louis lowered his head and kissed Harry’s temple. Harry did not think about it. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I can manage just fine on my own.”

“Everyone needs someone, Hitch,” the blue eyed boy replied. His thumb was rubbing soothing circles behind Harry’s ear. Affectionately or not, Harry tried not to think about it.

“I’ve got all that I need here; I don’t need someone else who can just let me down.”

Louis looked at him fiercely, eyes hardening with conviction. “Not everyone will let you down.”

“And how do know that?”

Later, Harry would realise that he never got an answer to his question. Louis, though, he thought he answered it pretty well, regardless of whether Harry was blindly oblivious.

Louis surged forward and smashed their lips together in a not so delicate manner. He pried open Harry’s lips with his tongue, kissing him roughly. He licked out the remnants of sadness and, instead, replaced them with sultry thoughts that led in only one certain direction. He straddled Harry’s lap, strong thighs accommodating Harry’s wandering hands. Long fingers dug into the slightly damp material, pulses racing through the touch. Louis’ small hand cupped the back of Harry’s head, pulling him even closer.

It seemed like the air around them had been set alight. They were encircled by a ring of flames. Where they would be, what they would have done by the time they had turned into scattered ashes, neither knew. But it was certain that they wanted to find out.

Jaws were aching as kisses turned even filthier, even deeper. That certain wave of fervour reached its peak, leaving the two of them to bask in it in complete awe of the moment. Wet and heavy breaths passed in between open lips. Harry’s hands stalked up the muscular thighs and curled around those insatiable hips. Cheekily, they settled on Louis’ arse, long fingers spread over the firm cheeks through the material. Louis’ fingers tightened in Harry’s curls as the fingers disobeyed their true intentions by digging themselves into the flesh and massaging with a disgusting amount of determination. Ignited by such passion, Louis started to grind down on Harry’s crotch. A stuttered intake of breath at the contact wavered Harry’s calm appearance. A spark burst as Louis’ tongue plunged into Harry’s mouth with daring confidence.

Louis kept pushing down into Harry’s crotch, flicking his hips upward tauntingly. Harry started pushing up at the same time that Louis ground down onto him, when the contamination of heat through his body increased rapidly. Heavy pants were passed between them through sloppy kisses. Trousers started to tighten with a certain fortitude that only passion could ignite.

It was all of a sudden when Harry’s head was yanked back and his curls were strained at the roots. A pair of impulsive lips then latched onto his pale neck. The thought of such swollen and stained lips upon his porcelain skin set a coiling in his stomach that could not be cast aside. Louis sucked on his skin, hard. His arse was still grinding filthily on Harry’s crotch, and, yeah, Harry was pretty sure that that was his erection Louis was rubbing against.

“Off, now.” Harry demanded, in a strained manner that did not go missed by Louis who smirked in victory. Harry tugged at the top of Louis’ trousers, trying to pull them down desperately. His skin had to be on Louis’s; it was no longer a want, more so a need.

“ _Demanding,_ God,” Louis joked, rolling his eyes.

Yet he followed Harry’s words and restrained moans and unbuttoned his trousers. He lifted up from Harry’s straining crotch to shimmy out of them skilfully, throwing them behind his head and instantly reattaching his lips to Harry’s. A cock-hardening snog ensued, as expected. Louis’s hands wandered underneath Harry’s t-shirt, fingertips tracing the indentations of abs and nails scratching the skin to make his pulse race that little bit faster. As his fingernails scraped Harry’s hardened nipples, the curly haired boy’s body arched, and he let out a delicious moan.

“Sensitive nipples, I’ll remember that,” Louis muttered into Harry’s mouth, smirking. He tugged the thin material underneath Harry’s armpits and urged him to lift them. He only detached his mouth to yank the t-shirt off and reveal a pale expanse of pure fitness. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re so fuckin’ _fit,_ ” Louis groaned. He ran his small, tanned hands all over the skin in awe, fingers curling around his sides and then thumbs tucking underneath the waistband of his trousers teasingly.

Suddenly, after taking pity on the just-noticed erection straining against Louis’ boxers, Harry’s hand reached out and palmed Louis’ crotch. The catch of his breath, followed by a breathy moan, toppled from Louis’ cherry-red lips at the touch. He pushed his crotch into the cupped hand. Harry’s long fingers started massaging the bulge expertly, thoroughly loving the heat under his palm and the way the boy above him was slowly falling apart.

With his spare hand, he started inching the elastic waistband down ever so slightly. Louis pulled off his t-shirt and threw it in the direction of his trousers. Harry’s mouth actually started watering as more and more tanned skin was revealed, the curves of Louis’s body and bones looking so perfect through his lust-filled eyes. Eventually, the boxers were too low to be moved without the release of Louis’ leaking cock, and so Harry took great pleasure in peeling them off with meticulous care that translated as tiresome teasing in Louis’ eyes.

Harry was pretty sure that he moaned louder than Louis when the hard, red dick slapped against Louis’ bare stomach. He had not seen the erection as clearly before, especially not in broad daylight, but to say that the sight was pretty nice was probably an understatement. Harry was not going to spend time fawning over Louis’ cock because, well, that would be odd, but he did take a few seconds to think about what he could, and wanted to, do with such a pretty dick.

This, in turn, made him croak out his next words: “ _fuck_ , I really want to suck your cock.”

“Holy shit, _yes_ ,” was Louis’ reply. Glassy green eyes caught brilliantly bright blue eyes, both infected with the numbing lust of the situation.

Harry wrapped his hand around the throbbing cock, revelling in the shudder that ran down Louis’ spine as he did so. He pumped his fist a few times; eyes focused on the fluttering of Louis’ eyelids as he pulled back the foreskin and ran his thumb over the slit. His thumb collected the few beads of pre-come on Louis’ tip. With his eyes locked onto Louis’ and his obscenely red mouth at the ready, he raised his thumb to his lips and sucked the liquid off seductively. His tongue gave a teaser of what was about to come, sweeping over the skin of his thumb and sucking with slick noises.

Louis eased his thumb from his mouth and replaced it with his lips, moulding them together with undeniable desperate force. His thumb pressed marks into the dents in Harry’s neck. Harry kept jerking his hand up and down on Louis’ dick, particular twists spurring quiet whines from the older boy. One hand was on one of Louis’ naked arsecheeks, kneading the skin into pinkness and pulling it to expose the crack which Harry’s fingertip was extremely close to. He let it ghost ever so lightly from the very top of the crease, all the way down past his hole. An unrestrained growl was forced in between Harry’s lips as his touch circled the puckered hole with barely enough pressure to be felt and then trailed all the way back up again.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Louis said, biting down hard on Harry’s bottom lip.

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Harry replied before licking into Louis’ mouth and twisting his hand around the other boy’s erection.

“You gunna suck my cock like a good boy, huh? Gunna let me fuck your pretty mouth? Make you choke on my dick?”

Harry let out a hoarse moan, throwing his head back. “Fuck, _yes._ ”

Louis wrapped his hand where Harry’s was previously and straightened up, moving further up the boy’s body. Harry shuffled down so that his face was in line with Louis’ crotch, and more importantly, his mouth was only inches away from the hardened shaft. Louis curled his small hand around the back of Harry’s head and edged him closer. The red head of his cock nudged in between Harry’s bitten lips teasingly, a slick shine covering the crimson stained lips and making them look even more obscene than before.

Harry pursed his lips around the head of Louis’ cock, first licking at the tip in small kitten licks and then sucking on it, hard. He pulled back the foreskin and let his tongue swirl around the head, making delicious noises that went straight to the base of Louis’ cock. He pulled off for a moment, before spitting on the tip and spreading the wetness with his tongue all over the shiny skin. With the tip of his tongue, he licked a strip down the vein that ran down Louis’ cock. The dryness caught on his taste buds, yet he only took a split second to swallow and replace his mouth onto Louis’ balls. A luscious moan erupted from Louis’ lips as Harry suckled on them one at a time, his tongue swirling around then sucking with expertise.

Louis peeled Harry’s mouth from his balls and tilted his chin to his cock. He took a moment to look at how wrecked Harry looked already, all hooded lids and swollen lips. His tongue lapped the tip of his dick without being asked, desperate for the taste. Louis could have looked at the obscene sight for much longer, but his cock was pulsing in his hand and he was desperate to be engulfed in _that_ mouth. He tapped the join of Harry’s jaw to urge him to open it, something which was obeyed immediately.

Slowly, Louis pushed his cock into the open mouth. The heat swallowed up his senses with each inch that was taken in by Harry. He seemed to have no bother with taking in even more of Louis’ cock, the tiny gags being more encouraging to the boy than disconcerting. Louis slid his fingers in between the locks of Harry’s hair and pulled him back a bit. He loved the way Harry’s lips dragged on the skin of his erection, that overwhelming heat and feeling he had not felt for a long while. Louis kept pulling and pushing Harry’s head, fucking his mouth not too forcefully.

Suddenly, Harry pulled off him with a _pop_. His long fingers covered Louis’ short ones where he was holding the base of his dick and wordlessly gestured with one movement for what he wanted Louis’ to do. Of course, Louis was not going to deny him his request when he looked as gorgeous as he did. He let his cock slap wetly against Harry’s cheek, slipping in between his lips, rubbing spit and pre-come all over his rosy skin. Harry’s voice was rough, already lined with sex and making Louis’ stomach clench before he had even registered the words. “I want you to make me choke, and then I want you to come on my face.”

Louis did not even give himself the time to reply before yanking Harry’s mouth open and pushing his cock inside without any warning. The boy gagged a little at the intrusion, but did not object. Louis kept pulling out a little and then forcing more of his cock into the boy’s mouth. The lava bubbling in his stomach started spitting sparks everywhere, his climax getting even closer. Harry tried to relax as Louis’ dick nudged the back of his throat, but a spluttering choke was unavoidable. Louis, though, did not let Harry move at all. The dominance racing through his veins kept Harry in his place, making him choke slightly until his throat relaxed fully. His nose brushed against the fine hairs at the base of his cock. His emerald eyes were glassy with tears. He looked frightfully beautiful.

It was not long before Louis was incredibly close to coming, so he pulled Harry off his cock and pushed him back onto the pillows. He pumped his hand up and down his slicked dick furiously, his climax hurtling towards him. Finally, ribbons of white come streamed from his cock. They striped Harry’s skin decoratively. Laces landed in his mouth and on his lips but Harry resisted to taste it just yet, no matter how tempting it was. It dripped off his chin and painted his cheeks. He let Louis’ eyes roam his wrecked features, heavy pants fanning over his skin. Shakily, Louis’ fingers swabbed up the strings of come and slipped them into Harry’s mouth to be licked off. Harry abided, sucking off the salty taste with total enthusiasm.

“How’d I do?” Harry smirked. His voice, _fuck_ ; if he talked any more, Louis thought he would get hard and have to go through the whole process again, not that he would object.

“Pretty well,” Louis whispered, pressing a lazy kiss to Harry’s temple.

Harry shifted underneath him and whimpered pathetically. Louis glanced down at his bulging crotch, immediately taking pity on the boy. His fingers worked the buttons of his trousers and then slipped underneath the waistband. His fingers brushed against the leaking head of Harry’s dick, tension shocking the surfer’s body. Louis pulled his hard cock out of his trousers, the shiny red erection lying flat against the ivory skin. It looked delectable as it peeked out of the material. Louis could not hold back his hand, wrapping it around the heated shaft profligately. Harry’s hips bucked up with every jerk of Louis’ hand, fluttering moans trickling from in between his lips.  With a few twists of his hand and a warm cupping of his balls, Harry was spilling over Louis’ hands.

Louis wiped his hand underneath the cushion and slumped into Harry’s side. He was warm and pliant, melding into Harry’s slim yet strong side. “I should probably go while the rain has stopped, but I don’t think I can move. I’m dead.”

Harry snorted, “You’re dead, are you?” His fingers traced down Louis’ arm idly, footsteps in the sand.

“You’ve ruined me, again,” Louis said dramatically.

“You’re such a dramatist, God,” scoffed Harry. His muscles were starting to recoil into themselves, but he did not have the energy to even stretch his arms. The air around them was languid and leisurely. Harry tried not to think about how snugly Louis’ was, how they seemed to be _cuddling._

“Yeah, well, I did want to do a drama course to show off my _incredible_ skills, but they rejected me, so, guess I’ll just have to use them all up on you instead,” he said flippantly, tapping Harry’s nose with the tip of his finger and grinning a dazzling smile at Harry.

Harry frowned. “They rejected you?”

“Yeah, said too many people applied for it and there wasn’t enough room for lil’ ol’ me. But hey, what can y’do? S’just life,” he shrugged.

“Oh.” The air dampened somewhat around the edges, like when water leaks into paper and tiny streams of transparency paint the material. Harry could see the way Louis’s face diffused into regret in the ditches of his smile. It was obvious that he was not as okay about it as he was making out, but Harry was not going to pry. Louis distracted him when he needed it, so Harry was going to repay the favour.

“D’you want a cuppa?” he asked out of the blue, sitting up and stretching. “I’ve got, like, every type of tea you could want. I nicked them all from Crusoe’s one day. Except green tea, though”

Louis perked up at that, leaning up on his elbows and peeking over towards Harry’s makeshift kitchen that was not much of a kitchen at all. “Twinings, right? S’fine, I don’t like green tea.”

Harry nodded, shuffling over and pulling out the bag of sachets, presenting them to Louis proudly.

“Can I have a cup of cranberry and Sanguinello orange, please?” he pleaded, his eyes gleaming and smiling a sweet little grin. He had pronounced the name so fluently; like he spoke whichever language it was every day. Harry wanted to wrap his tongue around Louis’s when he said it. It was probably just the lightness of his voice and the tone which lent itself to every situation, but Harry thought that Louis must have had a knack for everything.

“Ooh, check you out, all fancy,” Harry teased, winking playfully. Louis just stuck his tongue out at him and lay back on the bed. Caspar clambered from the front seat and curled into Louis’ side. His head was scratched by Louis’ fingertips, making him tilt his head to every scratch. He sighed contentedly, a little mewl sounding through his furry little snout. He fit into Louis’s side perfectly well. Louis seemed rather fond of him, too, what with how he had a little smile on his lips as Caspar rubbed his head on his stomach.

As Harry started boiling the kettle on his mini cooker, his thoughts strayed into the land which was hardly ever entered. Harry did not want to slip the key into the lock and open the gates to it, so he threw the thoughts away straight after his first wandering wonder.

It was all very domesticated and settled, all too easy. Harry did not like that.

-|-

It was Harry’s last session of the day and quite frankly, a group of gabbling girls were not what he would pick if he had the choice. They were fun, of course, always adventurous and had a right laugh. But sometimes there was one whose high pitch hit his ear with just the wrong tone, or one who overplayed the dumb card. They were unpredictable; Harry was not sure whether he appreciated that when his limbs were aching slightly and his mind was furred around the edges, but it was his job and it was the sea so, to put it bluntly, he did not give much of a shit whom he was teaching.

Harry was on the sand with the group of girls, teaching them the basics of how to surf. He was not going to deny that they all wore the skin tight wetsuit pretty well, but some of them seem to know it and show it more than was necessary. At the present time, he was standing behind one girl who had been extra bubbly and extra attentive, yet impossibly confused. First, she had claimed not to know which was her stronger foot to balance on, making Harry do the old school ‘football made out of sand’ trick. Next, she said she could not get the rhythm of her strokes as she lay flat on the board, hands digging pits into the sand in a fairly good rhythm. Now, she said she could not balance properly on the board and did not know where to place her feet.

Her big blue eyes had stared up at him pleadingly, eyelashes that were heavily laden with mascara batting not so innocently. Being the professional teacher he was, Harry ignored the girl’s obvious flirtation and tried to help her with her balance by demonstrating it on his board. This, however, was not enough for the girl as she insisted that he stand behind her and show her. So, Harry did just that. It was a little disconcerting standing so close to, technically, a student who was evidently just slightly taken by him, but he had to do his job, and, well, she was actually kind of fit.

Of course, Harry was not going to take her up on any of her offers because, well, he sang from the other choir more so than the one she presumed he did, but that did not mean that he could not appreciate the attention.

He tried his hardest not to give off the vibe that he was taking the flirtatious hints and slipping them into his Ego-Boost meter, especially not when she ‘fell’ back into him as they tried to balance. Eventually, though, she got the hang of it, and the itching need on the soles of his feet to immerse himself in the water was set to be resolved. He padded down with them to the water’s edge, giving them the rundown of the rules and all of that malarkey.

Harry had tried to explain the feeling many a time to anyone who was there to listen, yet that click that sounded when he _knew_ someone understood had never occurred. He wondered that if he wrote a book about it, if a random stranger would finally relate to it. Like in _The History Boys,_ Harry wondered if he would be able to put something across that would feel like a hand reaching out and taking theirs. However, he deduced, he could not write for shit and he was almost sure that he was the only one to feel the particular connection that he felt.

He was talking about the sea, of course; when was he not? Even with the rambunctious girls grouped around him, the distractions of the beach and the job at hand, nothing could take him away from that first split second where his skin was caressed by the silky waves. Sometimes he took the time to ponder whether he could ever bore himself with his love for the sea, but he realised there was always something different about it every day. It was ever-changing, and yet it was the only constant in Harry’s life. Did he want more secure, settled things in his life other than the sea? Who bloody knew.

Back to the present, Harry had been teaching the girls for a good while. It was not too much of a disaster; one or two of them were relatively good and seemed to have a knack for it. Some needed more assistance than others, obviously, but that did not pick away at the joy they all collectively felt when a wave was finally caught. It was well worth the internal cringing when that certain girl kept flirting shamelessly with him. She kept muttering words in his ear in _that_ tone which was meant to be seductive but did not fit the situation at all. She passed comments and offers to him rather skilfully; it had to be said, she was an expert at being a smooth talker.

When the session had ended and wetsuits had been peeled off difficultly, the gaggle of girls had parted from the shop a little worn around the edges. Harry was relieved to be free of the excitable students, having worked all day in the cool weather with only a few short breaks. Thankfully, all he had to do was lock up the shop and take up the invite to get something for dinner at the café instead of on his ‘shitty little cooker’, as Louis had put it so complimentarily.

He lit up a tab and wandered down to the café, not really thinking about anything in particular. Louis cropped up in his thoughts randomly as he glanced towards the sky. It seemed that after their time in his van, the ice had been officially broken. It would seem that they were actually, fully-fledged friends. Of course he was not amazingly close to him, they were not bosom-buddies, but it was casual and free and just what Harry needed. Specks of their personalities seemed to mould together fairly well and although the conversation was not always flowing, it was enough. It appeared that Louis was becoming an integral part of the campfire Fridays. Was Harry okay with that change? Again, he was not really sure.

He stubbed out his cigarette and walked into the quiet café. There were only a few customers in the shop, the odd couple having a hot cup of something delicious and a family of exhausted children sprawled around a table. There was nobody at the counter, something which Harry was going to scold Lou jokingly for later, so he just walked around and started rummaging through the cupboards. When Louis came trotting out of the kitchen, arms laden with steaming meals, he nearly did not spot the scavenging surfer. Harry’s wild curls must have caught his eye and he had whipped around in a flash, a mere squeak piercing the air in reaction. The plates wobbled precariously in his hands but, thankfully, did not crash to the floor.

“Shit, Hitch, you scared the living daylights outta’ me!” he exclaimed. It was mildly amusing that his face was the picture of shock. His eyes were wide in an alarming manner, his jaw dropped and lips parted. Even his skin seemed a milkier colour than usual.  Harry imagined that if he had not been carrying anything, he would have rested his hand over his, presumably, fast beating heart to calm himself down. Or maybe just seem that little bit more dramatic, possibly.

Harry smiled one of his charming smiles – that could have been interpreted as a smirk, Harry was never really sure – and rested on the side of the counter; “I apologise profusely, your majesty.”

“I accept you apology, young servant, and enquire as to why you have subjected such an important and _fabulous_ person as I to an incredible bout of surprise?” Louis donned a brilliantly constructed posh tone, not breaking character once even for a giggle. He quickly turned and slipped the plates of food onto the respective table and scuttled back to Harry.

Harry, however, could not hold up the act and let out a loud laugh. “Sorry, mate, you just make a really convincing posh royal.”

“Well, I did always think I should have been a prince. Or a princess, I dunno, I could never choose between the two.” Louis shrugged nonchalantly, but then a smirk broke through and he snorted at his own words. Harry snickered, the mental image as Louis as a princess washing into his brain, scooting back out again as soon as it had caused damage.

A quiet cough broke their chuckling and both of their heads turned to look at the interrupter. Harry was surprised to see the flirtatious lady from his last surfing session. It was not exactly a pleasant surprise, yet not an unpleasant one, either. It was just a surprise, as simple as that.

 She was not dawdling, nor distracted, simply standing in front of the counter, waiting.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Harry said, offering up a polite smile.

“Hey, Harry!” she beamed, “I didn’t expect to see you here, do you work here as well as the surf shop?”

Harry ran a hand through his tatty hair, fingers getting caught in the knots and pulling at his roots painfully. “Nah, I’m just here to get something to eat, my mate runs this place, so.”

“That’s so cool! This place is rad!” she said enthusiastic, smiling widely with a grin and gleaming eyes.

“Yeah, they renovated it from a shack to this, it’s pretty amazing,” Harry nodded.

“Totally, I’d love to be able to do something like this one day,” she said sincerely.

“Well, there are loads of plots around here, y’just got to find the right place, I guess,” replied Harry with a shrug. “Oh, shit, did you want something?” Harry gestured behind him upon realising that it was actually a café, and there was a possibility she actually came in for a drink and not casual chats.

She glanced at the menu quickly and decided quickly, “I’ll have a green tea, please.”

“Can you get that, Lou?” Harry said. He looked over at the barista, whose expression was faltering with the tiniest amount of morose.

“Yes, of course,” Louis said, smiling brightly (a fake smile, if you looked closely). He shuffled behind Harry and started work on making the tea.

In front of Harry, the girl placed her hands on the counter and stood up on her tiptoes, pushing her chest, not so discreetly, in Harry’s direction. She tucked a strand of matted hair behind her ear and looked up at him through her eyelashes. And, okay, so this was happening. “So, I was wondering if you were doing anything later...” she trailed off and dragged her bottom lip in between her perfectly straight teeth.

Harry was a little bit stunned at the random change in demeanour. He cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes losing their focus and staring at the sultry look the girl was sending him. He was snapped out of his daze by a clatter behind him. “Uh- is there any reason why you wanted to know?” he croaked.

The girl pouted and twirled her hair around her finger, looking down at it and then back up at Harry with innocently wide eyes. “Well, you see, I was thinking of trying out that new bar in town, and I was going to see if you wanted to join me?”

“Uhh...” Harry stammered. He really was not expecting that forward-a response. He had not been into town in a long time, choosing just to get pissed on the beach or somewhere by the coast. Did that mean that he missed it? No, not really. He was not so keen on the hustle and bustle of it all, much preferring to laze on the sand to get high than outside a seedy club.

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice behind him. “He’s busy tonight, sorry.”

Harry looked behind to see that Louis’ expression had changed. It had changed to something that Harry could not seem to decipher. He realised that there was a lot about Louis that he could not decipher, his facial expressions only being one small bullet point on the long list. Mystery was a strange thing. It pulled along suspicion and wonder on its tail. It was visualised as a cloud of rich purple and dull grey fog. It swirled around itself and danced its unnamed routine in perfect time to its own beat. Sometimes it curled around one’s head; sometimes it licked one’s fingertips just before a touch. It was uncontrollable at the best of times, and yet never scolded for its behaviour. It had a ticket to everybody’s mind; some more than others.

“Excuse me?” the girl asked, offended.

“I said that he isn’t free tonight, so you’ll have to find someone else to latch onto,” Louis said, smiling sweetly throughout his speech.

The girl looked disgusted. “What is so important that he would pass up on a date with me? Who even are you?”

Louis fake-pondered for a few seconds, his fingers tapping on his chin. He then looked straight at the girl and spoke condescendingly. “Quite a lot of things, actually, but I think getting a blowjob on the beach from me is definitely higher on the list than your silly little date is.”

Harry was, well, he did not really know what he was. Was he shocked? Yes. Was he mortified? A little. Was he mad? Not at all. They had never spoken of their activities outside of them actually happening, and even then, there was an unspoken agreement that it just _happened._ And yet Louis was openly proclaiming that he was about to suck Harry’s cock that night. How was he supposed to react to that?

The girl gawped at Louis, who stood there proudly. God, he looked so smug. He plopped the tea bag into the takeaway cup and squeezed on a lid, still with a cheeky smile on his lips. She looked between the pair of them, appalled. It looked like she wanted Harry to say something, to stick up for her or something silly like that, but he was riding on the crest of bewilderment and could not feel it diminishing any time soon. Louis flounced by Harry and slid the cup onto the counter, in front of the dazed girl.

“That’ll be one eighty, please,” he chirped, like nothing had happened.

The girl scoffed and shot them both a dirty look, before storming out of the shop. Harry stood still, still stunned from the situation that was currently being ignored by an unaffected Louis. Louis pranced around, wiggling his bottom to the tune playing through the speakers. A couple started to leave, so Louis chimed a polite, “thank you for coming, come again soon!” Honestly, Harry was starting to wonder whether it all had even happened. Louis grabbed the drink from the counter and leaned casually against it, eyeing Harry up.

As Louis took a sip, Harry finally spoke. And, in true Harry-style, the first thing that came out of his mouth was, “I thought you didn’t like green tea.”

Louis’ eyes lit up with amusement and the right corner of his lip tweaked into a smile, “I don’t.”

“Then why are you...” Harry trailed off, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s not green tea. It’s the cranberry one,” Louis smiled.

“But...” Harry felt like he was reaching out for answers but was unable to grasp them.  They were pinned on the end of strings which were pulled away from his reach each time he inched forward. He was totally and utterly dumbfounded by everything.

“I knew she didn’t actually want it; she was just saying it to look ‘rad’,” he imitated in a squeaky voice, “so I thought I may as well just make it for myself.”

Harry ran his hand over his face, breathing in and then out deeply. His green eyes widened and he blinked rapidly, trying to come to terms with everything. “You’re an odd one, you are, Coffee Boy,” Harry stated, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’d like to think of myself as flamboyant, rather than odd, but some obviously do not have the intelligence that I do,” he replied cheekily, smirking.

“Flamboyant is a _very_ good word to describe you,” Harry chuckled.

“I know, surprising isn’t it? I mean, with such a manly figure like mine, you’d never guess, would you?” Louis said dryly.

“Never,” Harry joked, laughing as Louis seemed to stand in an even more effeminate way.

They were interrupted by Lou shuffling through from the back room. When she spotted Harry, her face scrunched up. “You’re scavenging again, aren’t you?”

“Hey! I’m merely accepting an invitation!” Harry said, affronted.

“By who?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“Louis.”

Lou gasped and turned to look at Louis, “I told you not to do that!”

“I was just being nice!” Louis exclaimed.

“What do you want?” the café owner grilled the barista, pointing at him in suspicion.

“He wants H to give him a blowjob,” Tom said casually, walking past them and placing some full plates on a spare table.

“What?!” Louis cried out dramatically, mortified. Harry’s cheeks blushed fiercely.

“I heard him saying to this girl that he was going to give H a blowjob on the beach so he wasn’t free to go out on a date. Which, in turn, means he wants a blowie back, basically,” Tom said frankly. Harry cringed into himself at the crudeness, and Louis looked as if he was burning inside with humiliation.

Lou cackled manically, almost setting herself off on a coughing fit because she was laughing so much.

“I hate you all,” Louis pouted.

“Aw, bless you, babe,” Lou said, walking over and ruffling Louis’ hair affectionately.

“Y’staying for something to eat with H or what?” Tom called over.

“If that’s alright, I’m kinda peckish,” Louis replied, seemingly over the whole situation. He had a knack for that, evidently.

“’Course, gotta build up your appetite up for sucking Harry’s dick.”

“Fuck off.”

-|-

It was Saturday morning, and Harry was more than a little hungover. Usually, he would be able to rid himself of the nasty feeling fairly easily, but it seemed that tequila did not agree with that. Harry blamed Zayn one hundred percent. The perfectly coiffed haired boy had brought a large bottle of tequila with him that he nicked from Fit Aiden’s stash behind his stall, and, well, it was hard to pass up on any type of alcoholic drink, let alone tequila. They seemed to be extra rowdy around the campfire for some reason, all five of them getting plastered pretty quickly.

Tequila seemed to make Louis talk less, surprisingly enough, and just sprawl all over whoever he was close to. Harry, however, seemed to talk a lot more, along with Liam. Banter was passed back and forth between them all, but Harry felt like he was spouting utter shit half of the time. He vaguely remembered the fact that Louis may have told him something along those lines, but that thought was a little blurry and less defined for him to trust. Those kinds of jokes that would be carried on for months and months afterwards were created and laughed about, some of them not even making the slightest bit of sense. It was the perfect way for Harry to relax after a hard day’s work, but that was not the best of it.

The highlight of the night, Harry remembered, was probably that promise that Louis had made merely hours before. True to his word, Louis and he had stumbled further onto the beach, away from wandering eyes and mocking shouts (not that they would have cared in the state they were in anyway). Harry had been pushed to the ground with little force, his unsteady legs already weak at the knees before anything had even happened. Harry kind of wanted to see Louis on his knees in front of him, but then he remembered that he was bladdered and probably would have wavered around a bit and ended up choking Louis to death. So, unfortunately, he realised that he would have to save that for another time.

Anyway, Louis had ended up unbuttoning Harry’s shirt with fumbling fingers. He pressed open-mouthed kisses in the wake of the soft material, hot breath sticking to his skin as it tried to escape the delicious cave of Louis’ mouth. A tongue darted out and swiped over Harry’s nipple, teeth then scraping over the hardened nub and making Harry’s mind whirl. The cold air around them stuck to the wet skin as soon as Louis had pulled away, making Harry hiss quietly under his breath when the invisible plaster of warmth was ripped off his skin.

His lips had trailed all the way down Harry’s exposed chest, sucking blossoms of red around his belly button. His teeth tugged on the hairs trailing down to the waistband of his trousers; he looked up at him through thick eyelashes, the blueness of his eyes darkened substantially to an arousing beauty. Sand became embedded underneath Harry’s fingernails from how his fingers dug canyons into the dampened ground. Harry’s chest was heaving up and down in anticipation.

Suddenly, the heel of Louis’ hand was pressing down on Harry’s crotch. A breathy moan tumbled from between Harry’s lips, the pressure on the bulge sending sparks through his thighs and hips. As Louis started pressing wet kisses around the curve of Harry’s waist, he unbuckled Harry’s belt swiftly with his other hand. Louis pulled away from licking intricate patterns on Harry’s skin and popped open the button to his trousers. The caramel haired boy leant up and connected his wet lips with Harry’s dry ones, melding them together in a sloppy kiss. Tequila and smoke was all that was found behind Harry’s teeth, but it was more _Harry_ than Louis could really ask for; it was just something else that he could add to the tiny little Harry collection that he was storing away in his mind.

Without Harry even realising it, his mind too preoccupied with the curling of Louis’ tongue around his, the other boy had his hand wrapped around his cock in his boxers and was pumping slowly. Harry’s breathing was stuttered as the lazy movement of Louis’ hand caused a fantastically prolonged friction. The lax movement of the small hand ended up taking its toll on Harry’s kissing skills. His lips moved with less coordination than they ever had, his bottom lip catching on Louis’ chin and his tongue stabbing the smoke-infested corner of Louis’ mouth.

And then Louis pulled Harry’s dick out of his underwear and slipped his mouth over the head, and, well, everything seemed to go to pot after that. The air was like a shock to his system, like a pendant being placed around his neck that was riddled with curses to entrance his soul.  But then the coven of heat had an even more extreme power. It was so intense that it loosened Harry’s vocal chords, melodies of moans trickling through his swollen, parted lips. Harry’s eyes were screwed shut; the feeling of Louis’ tongue swirling around the head of his cock and his lips dragging on his skin and the sound and smell of the sea not too far away from him was all that his body could take in. Heaven much?

Harry had to prevent himself from bucking his hips up too much, what with how overwhelming everything was, it was hard for him to stay in control of his body’s falling apart. Harry creaked open his eyelids and took in the pinprick stars above him. They were somewhat distorted, waltzing in the sky like an old fashioned ball. Harry felt like they were reflecting in his eyes; he was pretty sure that he was just as euphoric as they were. When a flick of Louis’ tongue stopped the stars abruptly from dancing, Harry tilted his head down. The daughters of the ocean caught his eye, their perfect convexes that rolled into themselves. The sight of the waves set something off in his heart. What it was, he was not too sure, and he did not have time to consider it because-

Well, because Louis’ mouth was absolutely sinful.

His thin lips pursed around the tip of his cock, sucking hard. Harry whimpered. Louis took in more of Harry’s dick and then pulled off to the tip, his fist pumping at the base in time with his movements. Each time he sucked all the way back up, his tongue licked into his slit and urged Harry to let out mewls of pleasure. He kept taking in more and more, the heat encasing his cock being intensely incredible. Harry looked down at him, and he was pretty sure that more pre-come bubbled onto the flat of Louis’ tongue.

Louis looked fucking gorgeous. His Coffee Blue eyes were swathed in a glassy veil, a glittering of tears painting his eyelashes just after he gagged slightly. He looked up at Harry through those thick lashes, so dark and sultry. Those eyes held the pure pleasure which Louis was evidently feeling, something which made Harry’s cock throb even more in Louis’ mouth. What astounded Harry to the point of having to throw his head back and screw his eyes shut were Louis’ cheekbones. Whenever he sucked Harry’s cock, his cheeks hollowed and these brilliantly defined cheekbones became apparent. They were sharp, like knives, and only added to his undeniable prettiness. His lips, fuck. They were an unnamed shade of rosy pink. The swollenness made him look even more wrecked, especially when they were wrapped around his cock.

Honestly, Harry felt like he was even higher than he was the hour before when he smoked himself onto a cloud.

The tip of Harry’s cock brushed against the back of Louis’ throat, teasing his gag reflex. He was so enthusiastic in his motions that Harry found that certain coiling in his stomach starting to unravel. Suddenly, without any warning, Harry was shooting ropes of come down Louis’ throat with a thrust of his hips and a gravelly groan. He threw his head back, the army of heat taking over his veins and making him shake in pleasure. Louis lapped at the head of his cock a few times before pulling off, making sure that all remnants of come had not been wasted.

Harry was breathing heavily as Louis’ crawled up his body. He tucked Harry’s dick back into his underwear and buckled his belt up whilst Harry was still on his high. He pushed an errant curl off Harry’s glistening forehead and looked at him fondly (Harry was too dazed to realise that it was fondly).

“How was that for you?” Louis asked. His voice was croaky and rough, the complete opposite to his usual smooth, high chimes. He sounded totally and utterly fucked, but his question was so sweet and honest that it contradicted his voice entirely. But, really, Louis was kind of a walking contradiction anyway.

“S’brilliant, thanks,” Harry replied breathlessly. Louis bared a pleased smile and pecked Harry’s lips. He then shuffled around a bit on Harry’s lap and turned around. Harry was still too far in that post-orgasmic bliss to really realise what was going on, and before he had noticed, the petite boy had slipped in between his legs and was resting on his chest.

Harry did not have the energy to fight did, nor did he want to deep down. The warm body was nice to have in his arms; the hair that tickled his neck as Louis rested his head back was a welcomed feeling. The weight against his chest was comforting in a way that Harry did not want to analyse. They both looked out at the beautiful scene in front of them. Harry was mesmerised by the lapping waves, obviously, but he thought that maybe Louis was looking at the stars instead. He remembered their conversation by the sea, when a high Louis blabbered on about how much he loved the stars. It was somewhat comforting to have the boy in front of him ostensibly feeling just how he felt; content.

Harry would have called the scene that he had been cast in as practically perfect, but that held too much worth.

-|-

And then everything seemed to be Louis, and Louis seemed to be everything.

He was everywhere. Wherever Harry turned, those Coffee Blue eyes were there, gleaming like those pinprick starts in the midnight blue silk. Behind him, that musk of bitter coffee and a dullness of smoke, but also a sweetness of cinnamon and a swathing of chocolate, lingered. The brush of soft skin skimmed across his when he reached out for something. The chuntering of that soft voice circled his mind as rambling from his side rolled on and on.

But surprisingly, none of that was as frustrating or annoying as it should have been.

And that is what Harry was confused about; that is what he did not like. Why did his brain not get sluggish as he listened to the babbling from the barista? Why did he not want to push away any lingering touches that were left there simply because of forgetful or distracted minds?

But all he could come up with was because it was _Louis_ and because that was just how the boy was. He had never had a relationship akin to his with Louis’, but that was because Louis was _Louis_ and nobody else was like him. It sounded cheesy, and Harry internally punched himself because of it. There was no way to explain it; Harry was not even going to try.

It was a little disconcerting, of course it was. Harry didn’t _do_ things like that, didn’t suddenly conjure up relationships that fast. His friendships were built gradually and slowly, not fast and furious like his with Louis was. However, Harry did not want to over think things or mull them over for too long, especially not things like so. He did not need to think about it to no end and get himself in a tizzy, no, that was totally unnecessary. So he just carried on like usual and pushed it all aside.

And somehow, because of all that not thinking, he had ended up on his way to Louis’ home. It was not with the intention of getting a little frisky or doing anything _proper,_ but it was still kind of a big deal. Well, to Louis it seemed to be, what with his fidgeting next to Harry and his constant stream of questions to ensure whether Harry _definitely_ wanted to come. To Harry, the only qualm was the fact that it was a whole lot less informal than he wanted to consider, and a worry that he would slip into place too easily.

As they approached the entrance to his flat, Louis’ feet came to a shuffling stop. He turned to Harry, creases between his eyebrows and lips pursed. “It’s kinda a mess, so, like, don’t expect anything amazing, yeah?”

Harry just nodded and smiled. His response seemed to be enough to somewhat calm Louis’ mood as he sighed and smiled to himself in contentment. He murmured to himself then turned to unlock the door. Before he pushed it open, he turned to Harry, “I like to call it ‘homely’, yeah?”

Harry looked at him confusedly but nodded once again, apparently words failed him. They shuffled in and-

Well, homely could be a word to describe it.

It was rather small and compact, something which Harry was used to, obviously. The furnishings were, well, they were just very _Louis._ The colours all clashed with each other: a red carpet, a green couch, a lilac coffee table. It was fairly messy, clothes strewn over the couch and takeaway boxes stacked up on the table. A duvet was piled on the sofa, and an empty bottle of wine was sandwiched in between two cushions. But then there were photos tacked to the wall, distorted knitted blankets thrown over chairs, and messy handmade paintings pinned on the doors.

It was exactly what Harry imagined Louis’s mind to be like. There was the confident side, the random colours that mashed together into a swirling cauldron of strong opinions. There was the mysterious side, the mess and lack of order that gave no indication to who he truly was. But then there was the sweet and caring side, the bright sunshine streaming through the windows, golden rays lighting up a school portrait of four smiling girls. Harry felt like he had been knocked over by the tidal wave of Louis, and he was stuck underneath the surface. Each broken breath pulled Louis into his lungs; each painful blink saw those Coffee Blue eyes. Was there no escape, or did he just not want to find it?

“I know, I know; I get ribbed all the time for how I decorated it, but I like it, so,” Louis said, shrugging. He threw his keys into the bowl by the side and toed his shoes off.

After following Louis’s actions, Harry spoke. “It’s very... _you._ ”

Louis looked at him in amusement, eyes gleaming and mouth smiling. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is! I like it,” Harry insisted.

Louis cocked his head and looked at Harry, almost inspecting him. Something was whirring around behind his eyes, but Harry could not work out what it was. The corner of his lips was turned up and his right cheek was bunched up over those sharp cheekbones. He looked entirely different to anything else Harry had seen; he must have had a million expressions filed away in one of the cabinets of his mind. This one was a lot softer than usual, something which was rarely displayed by the usually brash boy.

Suddenly, though, his pondering moment broke, and he was gesturing for Harry to follow him into the kitchen. “So, obviously, this is the kitchen,” Louis introduced, twirling around to show off the room. He then went on to show Harry the rest of the small flat. Everything was perfectly Louis in every single way. Strangely enough, Louis looked very proud of the next room just before he let Harry in. He had a quaint smile on his lips and sparkles dancing in his eyes as he turned the door knob. Harry almost commented on it, but he did not know what to say.

“This is my favourite room,” Louis said softly.

Harry raised his eyebrow at him suspiciously, smirking cheekily.

“Oi!” Louis said, once he realised Harry’s suspicions, slapping his bicep. “Don’t be so rude, Hitch!” Harry chuckled at himself childishly, mentally high-fiving himself for the fake-offence.

When they entered the room, Louis standing proudly in the middle and Harry lingering by the door, Harry knew why Louis would love it so much. The main feature of the room was not the bed; it was the wide window by the side of it. It covered most of the small wall, displaying a sight of only pure beauty. Light beamed through it, yet it was not harsh; it had a defined softness that curled around the edges of Louis’ skin. The sky may have been grey outside; it may have had plumes of dark clouds that looked soon to break, but the carpet of sand and glistening sea were enough to support its complete beauty. Harry knew what it was like to wake up to such a sight, and it seemed that he had found someone who appreciated it just as much as him. Harry was not sure whether he wanted to press his forehead against the window and stare out at the chest-twinging sight, or to press his forehead against Louis’s and stare into that chest-twinging sight. It was totally and completely glorious; everything.

“S’gorgeous, isn’t it?” Louis said quietly. He padded over to it and ran his finger over the glass affectionately.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out, speechless. It was odd for him to react in such a way when he woke up to the same view every morning, but this seemed different when it was Louis. Everything was different when it was Louis.

They stood and looked outside for a small while. Harry’s arm was pressed up against Louis’s, warmth seeping through. Spots of rain were spat from the clouds, smattering on the window and distorting the view.

Unexpectedly, “I fancy some Wotsits, d’you want some?” was what Louis chirped out of nowhere.

“I- _what?_ ”

“Do you want some Wotsits?” Louis said, like they had been talking about it for hours beforehand.

“Uhm - yeah, sure,” Harry agreed, a little dazed. He seemed to always be in a daze around Louis. Harry wondered whether other people felt like that, too.

 Louis pranced out of the room in a swirl of sugar strand and chocolate cake wafts. He was back quickly, two packets of Wotsits in between his golden digits. He threw the packets on the bed and tugged on Harry’s sleeve to pull him onto the soft mattress. “I’m making a cuppa, d’ya want one?” he asked, as Harry settled on the lumpy mattress. Harry offered him a sincere smile and nodded gratefully.

While Louis was pottering around in the kitchen and Harry was left alone, he had the chance to take in the rest of the room other than the astounding view. There was not much in it, none of the strange colour combinations or dodgy looking furniture. It was very plain, yet the personal touches really portrayed Louis. God, Harry thought, how many times was he going to say that? A photo was propped up on the bedside table in a home-decorated photo frame. Beads of all shapes and colours were glued on messily. Inside was a photo of Louis and four girls. They were all huddled in together, smiling warmly with rosy cheeks and red noses, contrasting with the snow surrounding them. Just as Harry, ever the curious cat, was about to pick it up and look at it a little closer Louis skipped back into the room.

Once the packets were burst open and their backs were resting against the headboard, Louis’s leg thrown over Harry’s and twisting their ankles together, Louis popped a cheesy puff in his mouth and smiled goofily at Harry. “This is nice,” he said simply.

“Yeah, yeah, it is.”

Because it was. It was really nice. It was warm and cuddly and soft. It made Harry’s heart beat faster in his chest, yet his limbs gained a certain lethargy and relaxation. It was steaming tea and crisps Harry hadn’t eaten in years. It was the tickling of Louis’s feathery hair under his chin and his trailing fingertips. It was the way it felt so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. It was the way that Harry could not afford to think anymore about it.

“Who’s that in the photo?” Harry asked when their conversation that had been ongoing for a while lapsed. Louis’s smile brightened, and he leant over Harry to snatch it from the table. When he resettled, he shifted a little closer to the surfer.

“This is Lottie,” he said, pointing at the oldest girl, “That’s Phoebe, that’s Daisy, and that’s Felicite. They’re my sisters.”

“Oh,” Harry said, watching Louis’ finger trace over the joyous faces. “When was this taken?”

“A year or so ago. They’ve grown so much since then, though; honestly, they never stop. Each time I get to go home, they’ve changed completely; it’s so weird. I bet that’s what it’s like when you go ho-” Louis’s babbling came to an abrupt end as he realised what he had said. An apologetic and guilty look veiled his features, “ _shit,_ I’m so sorry, I totally forgot.”

A pang of upset struck the chords of Harry’s heart, yet he surpassed and hid it with weak smile. “Tell me about them,” he said instead.

Louis looked at Harry for a little while, judging whether his words held true wonder. Whatever his verdict was, he obeyed Harry’s quiet demand. He spoke softly and gently of them, true love and warmth laced through his words. He was careful, of course, not wanting to push Harry’s memories too far. Yet, the curly haired boy seemed thoroughly engrossed in the tiny anecdotes and loving compliments, not regretful or upset.

Things continued like that for hours. Everything was hushed. The wind whispered through the glass of the window, and the rain tap danced along with the wind’s melody.

-|-

The crowd was thumping; the walls were vibrating. Limbs were languid, and sweat was stitched onto skin. Rugged strums of the guitar paired with synthesizer beats reverberated around the room, in time with the clatter of shoes on the floor. Everything was electric.

It may have been the weed in his lungs or the overwhelming thrill of the music, but Harry felt like he was on fire. It felt like the undulating waves that broke in his head had turned into thick, melted amber. The honey-like substance was glossy on the surface, yet underneath there was a grittiness which spread behind his eyes, a pure rawness that etched into his irises to make it feel _real._ It was hot under his skin. Its sleek body slithered through his veins and pulsed under his pores, bubbling too close to the surface. It was rare for Harry to feel such a rush outside of his home, away from the skin-inking burn of the waves.

The crowd seemed to roll together. Harry thought about how he felt like a water particle ready to take on its next formation, the most important one of all; the wave. He felt like he was gearing up for the big moment, whatever that was. They all moved in sync, like they were all readying themselves for the same thing. Yet Harry knew that he was not looking for the same thing as the girl sandwiched between two of her friends. He was not looking for what the bloke with the beard was searching for underneath the girl’s top. He was not looking for what Liam was longing for as he and Zayn gyrated together. Maybe Harry did not know what he was looking for, but he was sure that he would find out by the time the night ended.

The live band had a name that Harry had never heard of, something complex that was a lot to get his mouth around. Nick, though, seemed to know them and had insisted that they all go instead of ‘sitting around a lousy campfire for hours freezing your bollocks off’. Harry was not exactly fond of messing up the tradition, but Nick gave him _those_ eyes and he was putty in his hands. Louis, though, the little terrier he was, nipped at Nick’s conscience and made sure that they went to gig _after_ the campfire. Maybe that Friday night meant something to Louis. Harry had never even considered it.

So Harry was high and drunk. He was in amongst a pulsating crowd, and fire’s tongue was licking his skin dry. Regardless of not knowing the songs being played, he was thoroughly enjoying simply _being._

A curvy body was pressed up against his, soft skin pliant against the ridges of his bones. Rumpled clothes rubbed together, scraping past each other and revealing either milky or honey flavoured flesh. The bass line thrummed in time with the rocking of their bodies back and forth. The keyboard sung in time with the circling of their hips. The kinks in the guitar’s voice were in time with the digging of Harry’s fingers on strong thighs. Synchronised.

Louis looked as enthralled as Harry, all toothy smiles underneath swollen lips and enlarged pupils revolutionising against the Coffee Blueness. The back of his neck was slick with sweat, and his hair was damp. Whenever he threw his head back onto Harry’s strong shoulder and caught his eye, he offered a lopsided smile that made him look totally and utterly blissed out.

His arse ground into Harry’s crotch filthily, and yet there was no intention of it progressing. Inhibitions were lost in the billows of smoke from their mouths a while previous and restraints were unlocked. The music infected their minds and kept them chained to it, chained together. The end of the night was not yet in sight, and therefore, no epilogue had been written.

The singer, voice thick with a Scottish accent, spoke through the raucous cheering with words which made Louis swivel around with an animated expression. He looked completely thrilled by the exclamation. “Some may have heard us do this cover before, this is Teenage Dirtbag.”

“I fuckin’ _love_ this song!” Louis shouted, face worn underneath yet elated on the surface. Harry grinned back at him, a wide smile stretching over his face and dimples puncturing his skin.

As the first notes played, Harry curled his arms around the smaller boy’s waist and pulled him in closer. Muscular arms draped over his shoulders and fingers tangled together behind his neck. They beat was not one for neither slow dancing (not that they would do that, but still) nor rambunctious movements, so they swayed along with each other and sang along to the words loudly. Smirks grew on their lips as the chorus approached. The tension in the crowd started to build, excitement gathering in every single one of the chests that were squished together.

And then it hit. And the crowd lost it, lost everything. Bodies broke apart abruptly and feet jumped off the floor. Voices screamed the words loudly, some heads thrown back in ecstasy and some, like Harry and Louis, singing the words to each other with unturned voices and blaring eyes. Not one person was not immersed by the tidal wave of the song, was not captivated by the reminiscent music or the bodies surrounding them.

Harry thought that Louis looked particularly stunning under the flickering stage lights with those bright eyes and that sheen on his skin. His skin was electric to touch, sparks of enthusiasm flying off him and stinging Harry’s conscience. He looked wild and loose. He was the seventh wave personified. He was the myth. He was the biggest, the highest, the one that everyone looked out for whether they were doing it intentionally or not. He held expectations in his eyes and, yet, whether they were fulfilled or not was never questioned.

Harry finally felt his age. For years he had had to be responsible and look after himself. The sea was there to reflect who he truly was, but nothing else was. However, at the seedy little club, with blaringly loud music pulsing in his ears, and a beautiful boy in front of him, Harry was finally able to let go. He could scream out the lyrics, and he could dance with no care in the world. He was fucking free.

The song wound down and exhausted sighs were released. Smiles still clung to lips and eyes still danced. Louis coiled his arms around Harry’s neck and stood up on his tip toes. His face was level with Harry’s, yet the surfer felt like he was looking up at the stars.

“That was fuckin’ brilliant,” Louis gushed. His cheeks were mottled with a rosy pink, and his hair was well and truly ruffled; he looked utterly wrecked.

“So it was,” Harry agreed, his voice rough. “You want somethin’ to drink?”

Louis nodded mutely and sunk back onto the balls of his feet. And then-

Well, then he grabbed Harry’s hand and started hauling him through the crowd. Which was, well, unexpected? A bowling ball of emotions was rolling through his veins, straight towards the pins that stood in his heart. The ball lurched, speeding up. Harry stumbled, eyes hazy around the edges. All he could feel was the clammy hand that was clamped in his and the swirling in his head.

The ball, though, returned to its usual pace as soon as they broke through the crowd and the sticky digits untangled from his. He stuffed the experience to the back of his mind as he sidled up to Louis at the bar, the lack of stuffy air bringing him a little sense. The bartender was at the end of the bar, so Louis threw Harry a wink with a ‘watch this’ and turned in the other direction. He leaned against the bar, angling his hips so that his voluptuous backside was right in the man’s view. Well, Harry thought after pushing back a twinge in his throat, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.  With a flick of his hand and a tilt of his head, the bartender shuffled over to Louis within seconds.

“What can I get you, handsome?” the bartender asked. Harry could not _not_ admit it, the guy was fit. He had a cutesy kind of face to him, yet still attained a reasonable amount of hotness that would make lots of people fall head over heels for him. His dark hair was short and slightly styled. He had expanders in his ears, snake bites below his full lips, and a colourful tattoo inking the side of his neck. He shot Louis a smile that should not have fit on such a ‘bad boy’ type, yet it seemed to work perfectly. Harry really did not like him.

Louis bit his lip and leant forward on the bar. “What do you recommend?” he asked. His voice still had that higher tone to it, yet it had a certain gravel beneath it that Harry had only heard after- well, after Louis sucked his cock, to put it bluntly.

“For you? Something sweet,” the guy, Jake, flirted, winking lewdly.

Louis giggled over-exaggeratedly at the hideous line and fluttered his eyelashes. “That sounds perfect, but I’d like something that has a kick in it, y’know?” he bit his lip seductively after he spoke, staring the bartender right in the eyes.

‘Jake’ leaned on the bar, his head dipping close to Louis’s. “Well, lucky for you, that’s my speciality.”

“Perfect. I’ll take whatever you can give me,” Louis replied, his tone quietening as he added an extra layer of sultriness to it.

“I’m sure you will,” the bartender smirked. He shot Louis a wink before turning around and snatching a few bottled from the counter. As he was facing the other way, Louis turned to Harry and sent him a thumbs up and a cheeky smile. Harry just stared, he was in a state of either awe or wonder; he was not too sure.

Minutes later and various forms of flirting being passed between Louis and the bartender, one fancy glass full to the brim with some kind of pink drink was placed in front of Louis. Without even taking his eyes off Jake, Louis said, “that looks delicious,” and licked his lips. Jake smirked in triumph. Wow, Louis was really good at that.

“How much do I owe you?” Louis asked, pretending to dig into his pocket.

“For you, it’s on the house.”

Louis feigned surprise and gratefulness, smiling broadly. “Such a gentleman.” Harry could see his eyes sparkling in pride and victory. Harry thought that Jake probably thought it was in lust. A bubble popped in Harry’s chest when he remembered that he knew exactly what the lust in amongst the Coffee Blue looked like.

“I don’t have to be if you don’t want me to be,” Jake said roughly, biting his full lip with perfect teeth.

Louis pretended to ponder on it for a few minutes before straightening up all of a sudden. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for the drink!” was all he said before turning around, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him away from the bar. He speeded up as he spotted a free booth and slid into it, taking a sip at the same time.

“S’not too bad, think I did well that time,” was his verdict.

Harry stared at him in amazement. “That was-”

“Amazing, fabulous, brilliant, slutty; yeah, I know.”

Harry let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his knotted hair, “I was going to say hot, but yeah.”

The corner of Louis’s mouth pulled into a lopsided smirk as he took another sip of the bright drink. “Well, what can I say, I’ve got a knack for these kind of things.”

“Yeah,” Harry said under his breath while Louis got distracted by the sparkly mixer that was leaning against the glass, “you certainly do.”

“D’you want some? It’s a bit sickly,” Louis asked, offering the glass up to Harry’s lips.

“What’s in it?” Harry asked suspiciously, catching a whiff of the overly sweet drink.

“No bloody clue,” Louis said honestly, shrugging. “C’mon, try it, you’re starting to sober up and I don’t like that.”

Harry huffed. “Are you saying you only like me when I’m drunk?”

“Oh, no. I like you all the same when you’re sober-”

“Good-”

“- it’s just easier to get in your pants when you’re drunk.”

Harry gasped dramatically at the honest admittance and rested his hand over his heart to look thoroughly offended. Giggles clattered into the air from Louis’s mouth at the expression. He shuffled closer to Harry, still spluttering sniggers, and cupped the back of his head, bringing him closer.

“Aw, babe, I’m only joking,” he said through laughter. He pressed a sloppy kiss on Harry’s lips and then rested his forehead on Harry’s damp one. He tittered along with Harry, who could not hold in snickers when Louis looked so utterly blissful.

Louis pulled back and brought the drink back to Harry’s lips. “Now drink, I don’t want to be the only drunk one.”

And, of course, Harry obeyed. He let Louis tip the sugary drink down his throat until the glass was bone dry. The sweetness was bitter upon his tongue and went straight to his head. The DJ’s set was playing, the band seemingly finished their allotted time, and songs which were unknown to Harry were pumping through the speakers. Louis was bopping along to the music beside him, smiling to himself. Harry wondered what made him smile contentedly to himself, and then remembered that he was not supposed to ponder upon that thought.

Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out of his mouth. “What’re you smiling about?”

Louis glanced over at him, all earnest smiles and wide eyes full of intrigue, “I’m just happy, I guess.”

“You are?” Harry asked, tilting his head. A smile was pushing behind his lips, but he refused to let it show.

“Yeah, I am. Aren’t you?”

Harry thought about it. He never really defined how he felt in the general sense. It was more so the singular movements, the waves, that he focused on, not the oceans of the world. A part of him did not like doing that because it simplified his life to one simple emotion. Everything was more complex than one easy explanation. A wave was not just curling water; it was so much more than that. Giving it just a simple explanation did not give it its whole worth, the value which it deserved. It deserved to be thought about in full, and it needed every small technicality of it be figured out. That was what he felt like about his life.

Evidently, Louis did not agree. Louis was one of simplicity underneath his complexity cloak. He was one who adorned simple pleasures and embraced small joys. He took everything as it came, with no more of a second glance to his left. And, aside from that, he had a river of oddity running through the centre of his ribcage. It was intoxicated with enthusiasm and warmth, and ostracised with strong walls of enquiries. Tiny animals swam in the water, each with their own meaning. Some were his love for his family, some his randomness. Some were his conspicuousness, and some his passion. There were dark shadows which Harry was yet to discover, and he wondered if they even came into consideration by the blue eyed boy when he came up with such exclamations.

And yet, Harry’s mind seemed to decide an answer for him.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

Louis smiled widely in his direction; a certain sense of please settling in his skin. Things continued with serenity and contentment in the air. The air started building with _something_ as Louis danced in his seat to the music a little more vigorously. Either the alcohol had hit his brain again, or he had taken a fancy to the song playing; Harry thought that it could have been both. Randomly, Louis slipped out of the booth and scuttled into the crowd. When he returned not moments later, he was holding four clear shot glasses in his hands. His cheeky grin made it apparent that he had probably just flirted his way to getting them from. Harry was not annoyed; he was proud, in fact, because Louis’s skills meant that he could get free booze and whenever would _anyone_ turn that down?

He slid the glasses onto the table, the clear liquid inside sloshing against the sides. “I think it’s Malibu, the guy didn’t say,” Louis answered the unasked question, shrugging. He stood in front of Harry and held two of the glasses up, one in between each set of thin fingers. Harry followed and raised one to his lips, the other ready. With a silent countdown starting between them, they both downed the first at the same time then the other following in full suit. The strong flavour hit Harry’s throat like a roaring flame, the coconut taste not standing up against the rum. He spluttered inelegantly and winced at the ferociousness of the taste.

“Yup,” Harry croaked, “definitely Malibu, and definitely still disgusting.”

“Not a fan?” Louis asked, laughing.

Harry grimaced at the taste, never being a massive fan of the rum, and shook his head to try and distract him from the strong taste. He vaguely heard Louis murmuring an affectionate ‘aw, bless ya’ while he ruffled his wild curls, but that was soon drowned out by a new song being blasted loudly.  A surprised yet ecstatic expression adorned Louis’ face for the second time that night as a track that Harry vaguely recognised started playing.

Louis’s demeanour seemed to transform suddenly into one of seduction and lust. His hips started swaying, all rippling curves. His hands came to rest on Harry’s shoulders, mini canyons forming where his fingers dug into the muscle. Louis’ tongue swept over his bottom lip to make it glisten obscenely with spit. The dim lighting only added to the newly changed aura, and the swirling beats in the background thumped against the ridges of Harry’s throat. Honestly, the renovation was a shock, yet definitely not rejected, for it was something of an oil painting. Louis looked spectacular.

Louis mimed along to the words, lips curling around syllables effortlessly.  He seemed to over-exaggerate the lyrics with pouted lips that were desperate to be bitten and sucked on. His eyes were locked on Harry’s constantly. His figure gradually closed in on Harry’s. The atmosphere was more overwhelming than the frame crowding his space, but Harry was not going to object to being able to see the sexualised-Louis up close.

He looked delirious with sex. His eyes were wide and his pupils popped. Black oil leaked into the sea and sparkled tauntingly. He swayed his hips even more obscenely as he moved into Harry’s space and the song built up. Louis took one of his hands from Harry’s shoulder and ran it up his body. He started at his waist and then trailed it all the way up into the air, twisting his wrist once before running it all the way back down again. His body rolled, chest, stomach, hips, arse.

As the hand ran up to Louis’s neck and into the feathery strands, he threw his head back in fervent pleasure, exposing a column of glistening gold. The defined lines of his jaw were highlighted by the dancing stage lights, catching on the sharp edges.

Harry suddenly reached out and curled his arm around Louis’ waist. He pulled him harshly so that the boy towered over him, as close as he could. Louis smirked devilishly and ran one of his hands down Harry’s chest to rest on the top of his thigh. The other one mirrored it, until they were both resting heavily and all too close to his crotch. Louis then kneaded his hands down Harry’s thighs and back up, letting his fingers curl under to skim his arse.

And then, well, then Louis climbed on top of him. The somewhat explicit song was still playing, and Louis was still entranced by it entirely. With his legs either side of Harry, he wasted no time in letting the surfer catch onto what was happening and rolled his hips down. Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

Louis raised up a little and circled his hips, crotch skimming against Harry’s stomach. When he noticed Harry’s dormant hands, he grabbed them and placed them on his arse. Harry squeezed upon instinct, ignoring the smirk that grew even more on Louis’ lips as he did so. The smaller hands spanned over Harry’s to keep them there and helped him direct the movement of his hips.

It was intoxicating. Louis curved his back and stuck out his arse, then rolled his body onto Harry’s expertly. With less exaggeration, he started, basically, humping Harry’s frame through tiny rolls of his curves. One of his hands dropped from holding Harry’s hand against his arse and wrapped around Harry’s dampened neck. Everything was in time with the beat of the song, and that intensified it by about a million.

As the bridge approached, Louis bent down and whispered the lyrics in Harry’s ear, still dancing on Harry’s lap sinfully well.

_“I like when you tell me kiss it there.”_

His breath was hot and sticky against the curve of Harry’s ear; a shiver ran down Harry’s spine.  As he sang the words, he dragged one of Harry’s hands from his buttock to his crotch. Harry looked up at him with wide, ecstasy-filled eyes. The large hand spanned over the bulge, heat soaking through the material to both skins.

_“I like when you tell me, move it there.”_

He tugged Harry away from his crotch and to the curve of his hip. With sudden strength, he yanked his own body down so that it crashed onto Harry’s lap, right over the similarly hardened bulge. Harry let out a gruff groan and looked at Louis through half-lidded eyes. Louis did not react, just danced in his sultry world that he had heaved Harry into.

_“So get it up, time to get it up. You say you’re a rude boy, show me what you got now.”_

His voice was rough with wear, but thick with intention. He growled in Harry’s ear as he ground down hard on Harry’s crotch. His teeth caught the lobe of his ear, pulling down on it teasingly. The sting of pain shot straight to Harry’s cock, making it lurch underneath the clothed arse that was rubbing against it.

Fingers slid into his curls and pulled his head back, exposing his milky white neck. Louis lowered his head and let his breath ghost over Harry’s collar bones for an excruciatingly long second before latching his lips onto the bone. He sucked hard and forced a whimper to drip from Harry’s lips. A deep purple spot bloomed beautifully against the porcelain. The flat of Louis’ tongue then licked a glistening strip up the salty skin, right up to the junction of his jaw where he teasingly nipped the skin with his teeth. Bruised breaths panted on Harry’s skin. A heat wave rolled over his body, cloaking him.

Louis kept dancing until the song had wound down. His breathing was deep and laboured as he sat still, trying to catch his breath and composure. The air around them was stuffy and Harry’s skin was itching for some fresh air. But Louis’s temple was resting against his and the sensation of it all dying down was peculiarly lovely. Everything was soft and pliant and crumbling away underneath them.

“Oi, oi! What’s goin’ on here then? Someone do a degree in lap dancing’, did they?” A loud voice asked. Both of them looked over at a stumbling Nick parading over towards them. Zayn and Liam were behind him, all locked hands and drunken eyes.

“Piss off, Grimshaw,” Louis spat. He whipped his head back around and buried it in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry glanced down to see a dusting of pink blush lighting up the cheeks. His hand unintentionally rose to card through Louis’s hair, but he stopped it before it could reach higher than the boy’s lower back and directed it to one of the drinks that Nick had placed on the table. Whatever it was was strong and bitter, but Harry did not really care.

“Ooh, feisty, I like it,” Nick retorted, winking even though Louis had his eyes closed.

To the side of him, Zayn winged to Liam in a whiney tone, “ _Liam,_ why couldn’t _you_ have given _me_ a lap dance? That’s so not fair.” Liam replied to the moaning boy with a reassuring yet dismissive, “maybe another time, baby,”, and a pat to the side of his head.

“Where’s Niall?” Harry asked, moving the conversation away from what Harry wanted to keep securely as his.

“Got off with some bird,” Liam drawled.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Busty, blonde, and fuckin’ bitchy,” said Liam sourly. Zayn looked at him sympathetically and ran his fingers through the short, fair strands. Harry watched as Liam glanced up at him and his previously tense body relaxed immediately. He never understood how they did that, it was truly fascinating.

“What happened?” piped Louis, still resting his eyes but clearly listening.

“She started shootin’ her mouth off, I dunno, must’ve drank too much or somethin’,” Zayn answered after pressing a kiss to Liam’s forehead. Liam’s eyebrows were pulled together and his skin was stitched with absence. Zayn sighed sadly and rubbed his hand up and down Liam’s arm affectionately. Louis frowned, concerned.

“That’s great. Brilliant story. Round of applause. However, you’re ruining the mood so shut the fuck up,” Nick said. Louis gasped upon Harry’s collarbones in surprise that someone could be so vilely rude. The rest of them, however, were used to his blunt remarks and none took offense, not even the slightly weepy-looking Liam. Harry pressed the palm of his hand on Louis’s lower back as he felt him begin to snap back at Nick, reducing his bite to pursed lips and flaring nostrils.

“Here, Li, have the rest of this, might loosen you up a bit,” Harry offered, handing over the half finished glass. Liam took it gratefully with sunken eyes and downed it in one. Nick cheered loudly while the other just smiled at Liam who was seemingly trying to overcome what had happened, whatever it was that had happened.

The air seemed to loosen after that. Another round of drinks was brought in by Nick, and chatter resumed as normal. Louis slipped from Harry’s lap after downing a shot with a smirk on face, not the expected meek smile. It seemed like it was the home straight, the final wave to surf, and they were going at it with at full speed. Inhibitions were thrown out of the window with a clunk on the floor, and dignity seemed to be dribbling down the drain. They were loud and rambunctious by the end, totally and utterly pissed.

When Harry’s vision started spinning and Nick had fallen over his own gangly legs all too often, they, regretfully, decided to call it a night. They staggered out of the club with little to no elegance, trying to hold each other up between toes catching broken pavements and unsteady legs. Harry was pretty sure that his words were mainly incoherent due to the thick slur patched behind them, but he still continued to babble on in Louis’s ear about nothing interesting whatsoever.

“Shit,” Louis said as his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out with fumbling fingers and grimaced at the flashing screen, “I’ve gotta get this; you guys keep goin’, I’ll catch up.” His smaller body ducked out from under Harry’s arm, and he stumbled off in the opposite direction. Harry’s glassy eyes were drawn to his retreating figure. His arm fell limply to his side, and his feet kept walking, but he was stuck on the beacon gleaming against the wall.

His mind’s hands just caught the end string of the conversation between Nick and Zayn, yet his slight disorientation made it hard to piece the words together into understanding. Thinking that there was not much point in trying to worm his way into the conversation, he searched his pockets for a box of tabs. Thankfully, a box was squashed in his jacket pocket and his alcohol-slippery fingers could just about pull one out. He snatched his lighter and cupped his hands around the tip of the cigarette, lighting it up fairly successfully for being pissed out of his mind.

Suddenly, a lanky arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him in. Dirty fingers plucked the cigarette from his lips and placed it in between their own. Harry made an affronted noise, looked up at Nick with a frown. Nick winked at him, as if that was enough of a reason or apology for him stealing the tab right from Harry’s lips mid-drag.

“But young Harold here,” Nick slurred, “young Harold is actually lucky.”

“What?” Harry deadpanned, still a little annoyed about his tab being taken.

“Harold here doesn’t have to deal with _this,_ ” Nick said disgustedly, flicking Liam’s sleepy head that rested upon Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn was practically carrying his boyfriend, and, well, Nick was obviously ready to take the mick out of it.

“I don’t get it,” Harry said blankly.

Nick rolled his eyes, “of course you don’t. You never fuckin’ do.”

“Oi!” Harry protested, snatching his cigarette and smoking it away from Nick’s thieving hands back in revenge.

“Jus’ tellin’ the truth,” Nick retorted.

“Is not!”

“It’s okay, baby Harold, you’ll understand the ways of the world someday,” Nick cooed condescendingly, patting Harry’s head of curls.

“You’re such a fuckin’ dick,” spat Harry.

“Language, child. This is why you’ll never find _that,_ ” he gestured towards Zayn and Liam, “because you’re too slow.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Harry scrunched up his features in offence, “I’m not slow. I just wasn’t listening.”

“And that, H, shall be your downfall. You’re too caught up in all that surfing malarkey-”

“That surfing malarkey that _you’re_ in, too-”

“To take notice that whichever boy it is, is toddlin’ out of the door with his tail between his legs.” Nick said defiantly.

“Stop talking shit,” Harry snapped, threads of anger winding through his veins.

“I ain’t talkin’ shit, mate, jus’ bein’ honest,” the quiffed man slurred. And then, somehow, a wrestling match started between them. They scuffled with childish slaps and locked arms, in the middle of the pathway, drunk.

“That’s not- _Louis!_ ” Harry exclaimed, mood switching as he interrupted himself. Louis was jogging up towards them, a blissful smile on his lips. His eyes were alive and wild. Valleys span out from the corner of his eyes, pure excitement in their dips and creases. He had yet to catch onto the situation which Harry would insist was bullying, more so than the truth, and seemed to be immersed in his own little bubble of joy.

As his head was locked in Nick’s vice-like grip, he could not hear the exact words that Zayn asked Louis, but he was sure that they went along the lines of asking who was on the phone. Well, it was something like that, anyway, he felt like his ear was on fire from the way it was being squashed painfully.

“Just m’ mum. The girls and her just got back from holiday and she- yeah.” Harry just caught a glimpse of the satisfied sigh that relaxed all of Louis’ features into a pleased expression.

“Louis!” Harry, almost screeched as Nick’s grip was loosened and he sprung up for air. He flung himself over to the boy, lanky limbs flailing everywhere. Louis supported him as Harry draped over him, lips moving and words sounding without him even asking them to.

“Louis, Louis, oh sweet Louis,” he babbled whilst trying to haul himself up into a straighter position but failing miserably. His lips were brushing against Louis’ ear and his breath was steaming against the nearly hidden skin, yet he was not talking just then, trying to piece together the words his mind was planning to string together. “Louis, Nick said that I’ll never have a ZaynAndLiam because I’m too slow and surfer-y, but that’s not true is it? You’ll never leave me, will you?”

Unknown to Harry, who had turned his head to glare at Nick, Louis’s face slacked. The creases by his eyes evened out into flat ground, and his eyes lost that sparkle which had only just been lit. The corners of his mouth twisted downwards, uncomfortably sour. The switch in his mind flicked into realisation mode, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. Everything seemed to change in that one split second. The tide that controlled his mind broke, and a frenzy of smashing waves ensued. Confusion rode the hills of the sea skilfully, nimble feet gracing the crest of the waves and dancing into his conscience. It was not as if everything started crashing down in front of his eyes, or that he had some kind of life defining moment; it was simply the pinning of two situations together to equal something which would produce an unfortunate error.

With a sigh and soft-lipped words, Louis answered quietly, “Of course not. I’m not going anywhere.”

-|-

It was around a week later and everyone was gathered at the LouAndTomAndLux household for Sunday Dinner. Harry tried not to think about how Louis’s invitation was just a given now, not a kind offering. He also cast a trundling thought to the side when it started mentioning the fact that Louis sat beside him rather than the offer to sit beside Lou, because, no, there was nothing behind that at all.

Speaking of Louis, actually, he always seemed to be working. He took every available shift until his bones were drained and his skin was soft with wear rather than life. Harry’s rather sly, he thought, enquiry to Lou got nothing more than a sideward glance and a shrug. He decided not to contemplate the fact that she went and checked on how Tom was doing in the kitchen, when she never did that normally, unless she wanted to escape something.

Harry did not really notice when Louis’s hand started to trace circles on his inner thigh. He had been trying so hard to keep his attention on Nick’s drawling tone that he had missed the light touches trailing over his jeans. When Nick’s voice took itself to _that_ point where everything blurs into one, Harry caught onto the heat that was seeping through to his skin. A jolt struck through his body in reaction, the heat shooting up the left side of his body and curling up at the join of his jaw. Out the corner of his eye, he could see the tweak of Louis’ lips upwards in a discreet smirk.

Once Harry _had_ noticed, Louis seemed to press harder on his flesh. His fingertip ran along the seam of Harry’s jeans, stopping a few inches from the join. The heel of his hand was edging ever closer to Harry’s crotch, yet only his fingers were felt. Heat radiated from the palm of his hand and through the material of his jeans, burning the skin with arousal. Louis let his whole hand stretch over his thigh and rubbed it up and down teasingly.

Harry vaguely tuned back into Nick’s ramblings, but the man seemed to have gotten distracted and was babbling about nothing to Caroline instead. Harry would have taken pity on her, but the creeping hand on his thigh was much more tempting.

It was obvious what Louis was trying to do. The smirk on his face was enough of an answer, really. Something bubbled in Harry’s chest and an idea sprung to mind. Picking up his knife and fork to resume eating, he tilted his head slightly in Louis’ direction. He quirked his eyebrow up, challenging Louis to lay his worst onto him. Louis seemed to catch on fairly quickly, and gave a lopsided smirk back.  Well, then.

His fingers started dancing closer and closer to Harry’s crotch, delicate patterns being drawn like a carefully crafted painting. Harry could feel his insides coiling in a passionate tango that left him fighting for breath. Finally, Louis’s touches brushed over the tightening crotch of his jeans. Four strapped together moved in circles, each round gaining pressure. The heel of his hand droppe, and his fingers grasped the curve of his jeans. Louis’s hand clenched and unclenched, massaging the growing bulge beneath it.

All the while, Harry was trying his best to keep up his undeterred and attentive facade. The biting of his lip looked too suspicious when Louis started to press his palm down harder, so he changed to focusing on his breathing. Tendrils of air filtered from his nostrils, trying to be kept discreet but failing somewhat.

“Getting a little hot, are we?” Louis whispered in his ear.

Harry gulped. He turned his face, their lips close. “Nah, just got too many layers on.”

“I’m sure I could help you take some of them off...” Louis muttered suggestively.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirmed, slipping his fingertips under Harry’s t-shirt to prod at the soft of his stomach. He tugged the hem a few times and then stood up all of a sudden, pulling Harry up with him.

“Me and Louis are going outside for a tab,” Harry informed them, hands covering his crotch in the most discreet way possible.

Zayn’s chair slid against the floor with an awful noise, but Louis halted his actions with his rapid mind. “I don’t think you should come, it’s... it’s raining and it might ruin your hair. Bye.”

Quickly, he grabbed Harry’s wrist and dashed out of the door. Behind them, back in the room, the sun stretched through the window, and Zayn adjusted his beanie over his grease-tinged hair. They giggled like naughty school children when they crashed against the wall in the alleyway, feeling exhilarated by the lie and secretive happenings, regardless of whether they were believed or not.

Once their laughter had dwindled to just a smile upon their lips, Louis rolled along the wall and locked his arms around harry, his fingers moving into the cement dips. He brought his lips to Harry’s ear and spoke with a lustful tone.

“So, maybe we should try to cool you down by taking off those tight jeans of yours...”

Harry nodded, pressing his lips together to stop the sigh of relief that stemmed from the words. Louis removed one hand from the wall and flicked Harry’s jeans open skilfully. He shucked them down his thighs and left them by his knees. Although the sun was out, the air still had a backlog of bitterness behind it, and it made sure to nip at his newly exposed skin. The relief, though, was still felt. Not having such tight restraints over his ever-hardening crotch was as best a reprieve he could get, other than having his cock out in the open, that was.

Louis palmed the bulge in Harry’s tight, black boxers for a while. He bucked his hips up with the increased pressure and the tickling of Louis’ fingertips on his inner thighs.

“Please,” Harry said breathlessly, “please touch me.”

Louis’s eyes held no answer for a minute or so, as if he were wondering whether to accept the request or tease Harry more. Thankfully, though, he seemed to have had enough of the taunting seductiveness and raised his hand up to Harry’s mouth.

“Spit,” he demanded. It should have been disgusting, seeing the strand of saliva dripping from his mouth, but what was about to come (no pun intended) was more important to his lust-addled mind. Harry started to wonder why that was acceptable in a sexual situation, yet not any other. Spitting, he meant. Like, if you spat on the ground to rid of excess saliva after a session of energising exercise, it would be frowned upon because it’s a bodily fluid that is supposed to be yours and only yours. But-

But then Louis’s hand was on his cock; hot, warm, and slick.

And it was moving up and down rapidly, the friction feeling spectacular. His fist pumped in timed movements. He thumbed the tip of his dick and let the sensation roll through Harry’s veins until he itched with the need for more movement. He thrust his hips forward in a bid for the friction he desired oh-so-badly. Louis, though, seemed to be completely oblivious, in his own little controlling world.

“Louis, _please,”_ Harry groaned, almost begged, “I- I need-”

Louis edged his middle finger into Harry’s mouth as he opened it to speak. Harry’s eyes widened as the digit pressed on the flat of his tongue. Instead of answering with words, Louis gave him a look that basically told him to shut up and suck. (Harry had heard that one before, for sure.) He obeyed without question, just desperate for Louis’s hand to move. Harry swirled his tongue around Louis’s finger, slicking it up with spit and sucking on it obscenely, just for the hell of it.

Suddenly, Louis pulled it out with a ‘pop’. Harry sighed as he resumed the movement of his hand, the relief overwhelming him just as much as the arousal. He barely noticed when Louis’s other hand slipped into his boxers, too busy panting and whimpering pathetically. He did, however, notice when that wet fingertip circled his hole once and then slipped in without warning.

Harry threw his head back, his hands grappling the bricks. The intrusion shot sparks through his veins, the feeling contesting with the pumping of Louis’s fist. He worked them both in time; pulling his finger out to the tip and the foreskin of his cock back together. Louis’s finger crooked to an angle inside of Harry. The surfer let out a murmur of profanities, his back arching and his mind whirling.

All of it; being outside, being exposed to the rest of the world, how impromptu it was, having a grip around his cock, having a finger twisting inside of him, and _louislouislouis;_ it was all overwhelming. With one last flick of his wrist and a push of his finger, Louis had Harry spilling over his hand and moaning endlessly.

Harry felt like he was swimming through a pool of honey. His arms were wading through thick sloshes of stickiness, yet it did not restrain him. It relaxed the muscles it smothered over and made his bones wobble with disillusion. The flooded cove of his mind was still. The heavy scent of sweetness swirled around his imaginary world, the delicate odour of sea salt lingering in the background as always. As he paddled through his little kingdom, he spotted cherry-eyed doves upon the golden rocks and scuttling mice gazing up at the warmed sun.

 He never wanted to leave the godly medicine pool, yet it seemed unable to hold his capacity any longer and started lapping at the sides of his mind. The honey started melting into the sides of the rocks, seeping up the golden tinge that was there and leaving blank, grey canvasses. Waves rocked the water. They became stronger and stronger to the point in which they prized open Harry’s closed eyes, sending him out of his mind and into the real world.

Louis was staring back at him. He was all wide glassy eyes reflecting his own and parted lips. His face was so close that his breath fanned across Harry’s clammy skin. The dim roar of cars passing through was just a mere murmur in the background, the fast beating of Harry’s heart being the musical accompaniment to the situation.

A regretful look passed over Louis’s eyes, Coffee Blue being doused in a dull shade of grey. “Hitch, there’s something I need to-”

“Oi, Styles! Get ya’ trousers back up and come’n deal with that goddaughter of yours! She’s bein’ all whiney,” a voice shouted from the end of the alleyway. Louis’s words were thrown out of his lips and splattered against the wall as he whipped his head around in sync with Harry. Nick was standing at the bottom, cigarette dangling out of his mouth and looking totally unaffected by the situation.

A tinge of a blush lit up Louis’s cheeks, and Harry had the urge to kiss both. He didn’t.

Instead, he chuckled quietly and pushed himself off the wall, making Louis stumble back and hit the opposite wall with a thud. He shimmied up his trousers and buckled them up. Harry looked up at Louis, who was worrying his bottom lip with pulled-together eyebrows.

“You alright?” Harry asked. He was not heartless; he did not have some kind of stone heart. He cared about Louis, and he was not going to just leave his expression unnoticed. Just how much he cared might have been a problem, but that was not to be thought about.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I just needed to-”

“Oh, shit, did you want me to get you off?” Harry interrupted. “I can do it quickly now, if you want I can-”

“No, Hitch, it’s not that, it’s- fine. It’s fine,” Louis sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. It seemed like that had rid him of his worries, as he shot Harry a cheeky grin and started off down the alleyway. A little dumbfounded, Harry stood still for a few seconds, before scampering to Louis’s side.

When they returned to the gathering, there were a few raised eyebrows and definitely some red cheeks on their part. Thankfully for Harry, Lux immediately ran to his side and stole some of the attention from him. The pair (well, three of them, including Lux) sat back down in their seats, trying to pretend that everyone did not know what had just happened. Of course they knew that the two of them had something going on, but the fact that it had obviously been talked about was a little disconcerting for Harry.

“Makin’ the most of it, are ya’?” Lou asked, winking towards them.

Harry’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. What would they be making the most of? Why would they be having to make the most of something? What the bloody fuck was she going on about?

He was just about to ask said questions, but then Louis was standing up and pronouncing loudly that he and Lou were going to go and make some tea because he was incredibly parched and before Harry knew it, the mother had been dragged out of the room in a flash, and the door had slammed behind them. Well.

There was a part of Harry that knew that he should have been questioning things, should have been clicking that inquisitive part of his brain into gear. Or maybe he should have been opening his eyes, seeing the world without the sea-hazy glasses on. But Harry was Harry, and he did not like listening to his own mind.

-|-


	2. Chapter 2

And then. Well, then things started to shift a little. Harry only vaguely realised that factor, wishing himself to be none-the-wiser on the subject. Other than surfing and getting high every Friday, it would be wrong to say that his life was not somewhat mundane. So the change in perspective upon seeing that, hey, maybe things were not all that lazy, was a little disconcerting.

He was surfing, at the time. Of course he was. The sky was a little brighter that early morning, and the air felt crisper. Harry breathed in deeply, his senses being overtaken by the fresh air and the sea salt. It made his head feel light, like there something had slipped through his ear and intoxicated his mind. There was an orange glow hazing around the bone of his skull, a colour that diffused into a lemon yellow. Inside, it smelt like honeysuckle and lilac. The waves that lapped against his waist were not strong enough to pull him away from his euphoria-doused mind.

What it all added up to was happiness.

It may have seemed cheesy or corny, but it was true. It was true, and Harry really could not believe it. Of course he had been happy in his lifetime; the feeling was not one that he hardly every felt. But it did not seem to fade away as he strode through his simple life, and that was the difference. It stayed with him, like a limpet suckered to the rock. This so called happiness was, hypothetically, a limpet. And yet Harry was not adverse to that. In fact, he thought he could get used to it.

But what caused the limpet to choose Harry, to choose his bony structure and fragile skin, was the question. ‘ _Why me? Why now?’,_ was what he asked the sea that day. It took its time to reply, pondering over his ambiguous questions whilst he caught a few consecutive waves. A trill ran up his spine as he did so. The wind’s fingers were carding through his hair caringly, and the water’s force felt like kitten licks gracing the little exposed skin. Another surfer was further down the beach, waxing up his board and readying himself for the English waters. Harry wondered if he spoke to the sea, too. But then he realised that the sea was different for every single person, and that one voice of guidance came in a different form for each. Even if the true meaning of the man’s life was the sea, it would never be the same as Harry’s. It acted differently with everyone, and Harry was more than satisfied with the deal that he had been given.

Finally, the ocean seemed to have thought up its answer. It spoke in such a soft voice, whispers coming off every roll of its lapping tongues:

Because he was allowing it.

Harry was allowing himself to feel such a way. He was not holding back, nor was he pushing it. He did not feel guilty for being in such a joyous mood; he just simply let it be. What made it easier was having other people to bask in it with him, to carry him through it. Of course, there were Nick, and Lou, and Tom, and all the others, but there was one in particular who seemed to like swimming in it the most.

That Coffee Blue eyed barista.

He thrived in other people’s happiness. It was what he lived for. He wanted to make people happy, and when he did, he would live in it with them. And Harry seemed to be his next target. He was in the firing line for his enthralling, happiness-filled bullets. Of course, some of those bullets were a little off and caused the opposite effect for a short while, but Louis fixed it straight away.

The thing that was most worrying, Harry thought as he trawled out of the water, was that he knew that it would not last forever, and he did not want to become dependent upon it. His oath to never get attached to anything other than the sea still stood high and tall, and he was not going to let himself forget it.

Louis was sitting on the sand, far enough away so that he was not on the damp sand, but close enough so that Harry could see his cheery smile. Harry spotted a fluffy, grey ball curled up under his arm, and one of Louis’s hands lying over it. It was fairly obvious what (or who) it was, especially because Louis was talking animatedly to it with that (adorable) expression on his face that he only adorned when it came to-

Caspar started sprinting as fast as his little legs could carry him to Harry’s side. He bounded up towards him, jumping up and placing his feet on Harry’s wetsuited legs when he reached him. His tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth and his big brown eyes were wide and excitable. Harry’s big hands covered practically all of the fluffy head as he greeted Caspar with a rough pat. The dog started growling playfully, baring his teeth but not looking threatening whatsoever with his sheep-like appearance. Once the wrestling tired the frail dog out, Harry gestured for him to trot along beside him as he made his way towards Louis.

They both collapsed beside Louis, both tired out and limbs floppy. Caspar spread out in between them, pink belly on show to hint that he wanted to be scratched. Louis obeyed him with a fond smile. Clearly, Caspar had well and truly captured Louis’s heart, just like he did with most people.

“Have fun out there?” Louis asked, glancing up at Harry.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry sighed contentedly. “It was great out there today.”

“ _You_ were great out there today; honestly, I don’t know how you do it,” replied Louis honestly.

The heat that flushed Harry’s cheeks was hidden by the redness that was already there, thankfully. Harry shook his sopping curls out of his face to try and distract the attention from himself. The wetsuit felt tight on his body now that he was out of the water, the material strangling his neck and the hem cutting of the circulation in his feet.

“D’ya mind-” Harry asked, gesturing to the long, dangling zip that hung down his back.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Louis said. His nimble fingers pulled back the Velcro with a loud crackle and pulled down the zip. The relief that came with unzipping his wetsuit was one of the best feelings that Harry could ever have. He loved the tightness and control it had over his body when he put it on, but taking it off felt even better. He sighed heavily in relief, conveying how he felt to Louis.

Just as he was about to thank the boy, words already on the tip of his tongue, the shoulders of his wetsuit started being peeled away. Feather-light touches brushed his sensitive skin, careful fingers revealing the pinked rawness beneath the material. The air dampened around them. The waves crashed loudly.  Instinctively, Harry moved his shoulders so that Louis could strip the wetsuit from him, the rubber slapping off his skin as it got around his strong shoulders. In silence, Louis helped him pull the, almost, second-skin from his body, to leave the top resting on his lap.

“Just thought you could use some extra help,” Louis reasoned quietly. His tone was soft, but not cautious or sympathetic. It was more of a sweetener to help his words slide through to Harry’s understanding. It was like treacle. It was not as light or thick as honey; it held some wonder and some underdeveloped surety. Not often would Louis’s words be slicked up with this treacle, it was usually Harry, what with his drawling tone, but it was a pleasant surprise. It made warmth bubble in Harry’s chest.

“Thanks,” Harry said, so quietly that it came out as a croaky whisper.

“I, uh, I brought you some breakfast. Thought you might be hungry,” Louis said. He picked up a brown paper bag and a disposable cup. Steam billowed out of the small opening. Harry did not realise that he was so hungry until food was actually mentioned. It was so early in the morning when he got up that sleep had masked his hunger, and that, added to exercise, made his stomach growl in desperation.

He had spotted Louis on his way down to the beach, surfboard under his arm and Caspar trailing groggily by his calves. Well, Caspar had spotted him first, choosing to dart from Harry’s side to the other boy immediately upon sight of him. The boy was lingering around Crusoe’s, not waiting but not doing anything else either. Apparently, the boy had been woken up at some godforsaken hour by the flat downstairs and had not been able to get back to sleep; hence why he was at the beach so early. Crusoe’s did not open for a while, but Louis was too fidgety to stay inside and do not much at all other than improve his coffee-making skills. Harry informed him that he was going to give Caspar a run around the beach before surfing, even though he could not be bothered to deal with his dog’s antics at that time in the morning. Louis jumped upon this newfound information and offered to walk Caspar while he surfed, something which appealed greatly to the both of them.

So, that was why Louis was sitting, waiting, with his dog when trudged out of the sea from the weakly brutal waves.

Louis passed Harry the crinkled bag and the cup, accepting Harry’s grateful smile that was a little stunted by the numbness of the sea wearing off. Harry took a sip of the drink - tea, it was - and scalded his tongue in the process. To the side of him, Louis smiled at the silly action with fond eyes, but Harry did not notice. He peeked into the bag to see two Danish pastries. The golden, flaky pastry was painted with lashings of sugar. Harry’s mouth watered at the sight.

He pulled out one of the pastries and gobbled it down quickly, it barley touching the sides of his mouth. With a full mouth and spitting tiny flakes onto the sand and into Caspar’s cotton wool curls, “Where’d y’get these from?”

“We just got them in today, thought I’d test them on our dearest customer,” Louis said, smiling cheekily at Harry with an overly large grin.

“So, what, you’re some kind’a patisserie now?” Harry snorted.

“Apparently so,” replied Louis, with his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his lips that showed only bemusement.

“Lou always does that; she gets into phases of things and buys shit loads of them to sell. Half the time, nobody gives a shit and ignores them. Like that German sausage phase she had one time, d’int go down too well.”

Amused, Louis’s voice raised in question, “German sausage?”

“Yeah, I dunno, saw it on a show sometime. Apparently, some people aren’t too keen on a German sausage loaf or homemade German sausage-sausage rolls with syrup. Who knew,” Harry shrugged, speaking as if it were a serious matter and a major discovery. Louis giggled (adorably) and nodded his head as if he understood. After spending that much time with the crazy mother, Harry was pretty sure Louis would only expect those kinds of ways.

“Was Casp alright?” Harry asked, rubbing the dog’s fluffy head with his spare hand as he licked his fingers clean. The sugariness was a total contrast to the sea salt that was buried in the crevices of his mouth. It stung at his taste buds that were too used to the familiar taste of salt. He swirled his tongue around his fingertips to rid them of the sticky substance, oblivious to the eyes trained on his pouting, raw-red lips.

After a few delayed moments, Louis finally replied, “Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Did he have a shit?” Harry asked bluntly. Ever the eloquent and formal one he was.

Louis laughed loudly, a smiling from cheekbone to cheekbone. “Yeah, he did, actually.”

Harry nodded, not even bothered by the conversation. “Good, he’s a right prick sometimes when he hasn’t had a shit. It’s like, I take him out to have one but he refuses to, and then in the middle of the night he’s so fuckin’ whiney because he wants one. I’m like, what the fuck Caspar, seriously?”

Instead of being confused or overwhelmed by Harry’s raspy rambling, Louis just chuckled and pretended like he understood. The freezing, early morning water had evidently gone to his head; he was babbling nonsense to no end. Harry took a gulp of the provided tea and pushed his hand into the paper bag to fish out the last pastry. When he pulled it out, however, he noticed a bite mark eroding the side the round treat. He held it up, inspecting the bite with curious eyes.

Louis coughed beside him, scratching the back of his neck and resisting the urge to laugh at himself. “Yeah, I, uh, got a bit peckish?”

There was nothing else that Harry could do other than laugh. He cackled one of those overly-loud laughs that made him slap a frozen hand over his mouth to lessen the volume. Louis chuckled along with him, unable to not see the funny side of the situation. Honestly, it was not even that funny, but Harry was exhausted and still delirious from the sea and was yet to come around to real life.

“D’you want the rest of it?” asked Harry, pastry wafting under Louis’s nose. Louis shook his head whilst picking Caspar up and bundling him into his arms. The dog’s head nuzzled into Louis’s neck and let its body become pliant upon Louis’s. Harry’s heart twanged, regardless of how much he tried to ignore it. Instead, he finished off the nibbled pastry as quick as a flash. Apparently they shared food now. Harry slipped that thought into the box which would remain unopened for as long as he could leave it.

Harry watched as Louis looked out into the sea. There were grey veils tacked to his bottom eyelids, and his lips were paler than usual. His bottom lip looked bitten yet dry, chapped and uncomfortable. His hair was tucked under a grey beanie, the fringe that was on show looking only vaguely styled. His cheekbones, high upon his face, stood out in amongst the drained skin that was pulled taut over them. Even those eyes looked duller than usual, not so much Coffee Blue, more so a boring shade which had already been discovered. Harry was not saying that his eyes looked boring, just that they did not have their usual life that they held. He looked well and truly exhausted. Harry could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain, the thoughts whirling around for attention until he gave into their obnoxious ways.

“Are you alright?” The words slipped out of his mouth without him even realising.

Louis looked over at him. Face on, Harry’s qualms were reaffirmed. His eyes roamed Harry’s face for a moment, tracing the worn skin with in a familiar trail. His lips stayed sealed together. Either Louis had nothing to say, or he had no energy to say it.

Eventually, he spoke. “Jus’ tired.”

His eyelids were drooping as he let out his admittance, the true extent of his words being played out on the floor of Louis’s skin. Louis rested his chin on Caspar’s forehead. Harry took that as not even being able to support his own weight.

“You should get some rest,” Harry said softly. His voice was full of concern. He almost wanted to wrap the tired boy in a blanket and cuddle him to sleep. Almost.

“’v’got work,” he shrugged. He closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek on the candyfloss fur. Harry almost looked at him in awe. Almost.

“But you aren’t going to be much use if you’re practically dead on your feet, are you?” Harry argued, insistent.

“Need the money,” Louis admitted.

“But-”

“Just leave it, Hitch, yeah?” begged Louis.

He looked worn down, defeated and vulnerable. It seemed that in the space of a few minutes, his tiredness had caught up to him without any warning whatsoever. The adrenaline of being up so early, the high of the caffeine, the whipping of the wind; they all created false energy which kept him going for a little while longer. They were, however, clones of energy that had a few defects here and there that meant that they could drop dead at any given moment. For Louis, that moment was now.

Harry sighed. For some reason, Louis seemed to be the polar magnet which dragged Harry’s conscience around with him. It made him want to do anything to help the boy, to keep him as happy and alive as he usually was. Harry was not the type of person to willingly consent to such feelings, nor was he one to consult them, yet it seemed to be happening without him even considering it.

Before he knew it, he was saying, “Well, maybe I can take your shift, then.”

Afterwards, Harry would demand that it was just a way to help a friend. Deep down, he had a sea of flowing emotions that could not work without someone dipping in and taking one. Louis just so happened to be hit with the charitable wave that was roaring through his chest. He would give up his time for anyone; for Nick, for Caroline, for Lou, for Zayn, anyone. It was just Louis this time, that was all.

“What?”

“I’m sure Lou’ll let me take your shift and just pay me instead, and then I can just give you the money. That way, you can get some sleep and still get the money you need, for- whatever it is you need it for.”

Louis looked at him in disbelief. “You’d actually do that? For me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said with an earnest smile.  Louis’s jaw dropped in a dramatic manner, features surprised and astonished.

“Seriously? Like, are you actually serious?” Louis repeated, eyes wide.

Harry chuckled under his breath and through his words. “Yes, Louis, I’m being serious. I honestly don’t mind.”

“I...you- just-” Louis cut off his own words by catapulting his body onto Harry’s. His arms wrapped tightly around Harry’s neck and squeezed him tight. His face was pressed into Harry’s neck, cold skin upon cold skin, naked flesh against naked flesh. Caspar was sandwiched in between them, sitting quite happily in his little warm coven. Harry could just about hear the repetitive murmurs of thanks being pressed into his skin through digging fingertips and brushing lips upon clammy skin.

Louis pulled away. Air rushed in between their parted bodies and attached onto the exposed skin immediately, making the lack of presence wholly felt. Louis’ hands gripped the side of Harry’s head, thumbs digging into his cheekbones. And stared straight at him. Harry was not sure if it was his mind playing tricks with him, but there seemed to be something flickering in Louis’s eyes again. He did not want to feel a sense of pride over being the ignition for that, but somewhere in him felt it anyway.

“Thank you so much. You’re- honestly, you’re a lifesaver, I- just-” and to finish off his sentence, he slapped his lips on Harry’s. He fed all of his emotions of gratefulness and contentment through the swiping of his tongue to part Harry’s mouth. He made sure Harry knew just how thankful he was as he threw both of their minds into the wave of lust that crashed them both together.

Harry pulled away once his jaw started to ache and his lips were tender from Louis’s sharp teeth nipping them. Louis’s head slipped down and rested in the crook of his neck. He sighed happily. Harry could imagine the smile of contentment on his lips and the relief threaded through his sigh.

“Thank you so much, Hitch. You really didn’t have to do this for me but you did because you’re so- you’re so _you._ You’re so nice and kind and and pretty and perfect and-”

Louis’s words trailed off into incoherent mumbles as he dropped off to sleep. His eyes fluttered shut and his breathing became shallower. Louis’s limbs started becoming heavy on Harry’s body, the sleep burying itself in his muscles to make them slack and droopy. Harry glanced down at the boy who was drifting away into dreamland. His face was smooth of worry, the creases merely ripples in a calm sea. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, light grey streaks painted with the finest of brushes and the most delicate of hands on the smooth, golden canvas.

Caspar slipped out from between them as Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’s body. He pulled him up, strong-turned-weak limbs tangled together. Harry hauled the boy into his arms, making sure his legs were locked around Harry’s waist and his arms were still caught around his neck. As quietly as he could, he gestured toward Caspar to follow him and started walking towards his van. Harry glanced back at his surfboard and neglected breakfast, wishing security upon them until he got back.

He trudged up the beach with the older boy in his arms. Soft murmurs were being mumbled against his neck and wisps of air plumed from Louis’s nose onto his skin. Harry’s arms were aching somewhat, what with the surfing, tiredness, and Louis in his arms. Once he reached his van, he tried to balance Louis on his side, basically like a baby, and prop him up with his thigh to try and open the door. Thankfully, he slid the door open without much trouble and could dip into his home easily.

Carefully, Harry flipped back the duvet and then placed Louis on his bed. He pulled off the boy’s shoes and placed them neatly on the floor. Deciding against removing any more clothing, because, well, that would be a bit creepy of him, he pulled the duvet over the boy’s curled up body. His almost had the mind to tuck the duvet in around him, but scolded himself for using his responsible mind to the extreme.

He could not, however, resist pressing a kiss on Louis’s temple. He knew that doing such an action was pushing the way he was too far, that it was surfing before the break of the wave. But he could not help it. Louis had a certain aura of warmth that Harry needed, that he just had to dip into.

And yes, okay, later he would regret it; later he would scold himself for it. But it was in the moment, and Harry knew that sometimes, sometimes he had to chance the seventh wave unprepared, regardless of its consequences.

After tapping Caspar on the head, who was curled on the end of the bed, Harry grabbed some of his clothes to change into (thinking it would be a tad strange to be naked in the van with Louis unconscious) and slid out of the van as quietly as possible. If he glanced back fondly at the sleeping boy, nobody was to know.

As expected, Lou took the random change in staff in her stride. When Harry offered up his reasons for the change, Lou looked at him with a certain glint in her eye. She acted overly bubbly for an early morning start once she heard the news, positively thrilled at Harry’s kindness towards Louis. Odd.

The day passed without any troubles. Thankfully, Harry had no classes to rush off to and teach, so he could slowly work the day away in the café. It was as experience, it had to be said. Harry was not used to working with such a variety of people, ones of such different moods. One minute he was serving an energetic family; the next he was serving a grumpy old man. He was not the most sociable person at the best of times, much preferring the sea’s company, so it was tricky to get used to.

He could see how Louis fit in so well in such an environment, and he could see why he loved it so much, too. His bright and bubbly personality could charm the socks off even that grouchy codger, and Harry could imagine just how much he liked seeing a smile brew under the irritable facade. He probably made little missions for himself to see how many laughs he could get out of a cheesy joke, or how much he could piss off a pretentious business man with his incessant babbling.

Louis had picked up the whole day shift, so Harry had to work an exhausting amount of time, but not one second did he think of trawling up to his van and asking Louis to take over again. The only time the thought crossed his mind was when a shattered father trudged into the café, mid-afternoon, practically asleep on his feet. Harry wondered whether Louis was still asleep, or whether he had built his rest-o-meter up to the top level.

So by the time Harry had finished his shift and was making his way back up to his van, he expected Louis to have left. He had expected that a warm, docile, lethargic Louis would have woken up. He would have stretched out his arms, let out a squawk as he did so. His eyes would have crinkled at the corners as he squeezed them shut to prevent the sun from blinding him. His hair would be skew whiff, cinnamon strands posing in different directions and leaving his soft, gentle face in full view of the sun’s rays. He would have cuddled Caspar for a bit, before collecting his shoes and leaving Harry’s tiny little van for his homely flat.

However, that really, really, really, was not the case.

When Harry slid open the door, he was welcomed by the sight of something totally, and completely unexpected. Two plates, two sets of cutlery, two unopened cans of beer were placed on the pullout table by the sofa. A lamp glowed in the middle, spanning light through the warmed van. Decorating the plates was an array of rices and curries, or foods similar to that, from what Harry could see through his dazed eyes. Movement further in the van caught his eye, dragging his attention away from the meal set out.

Louis was fussing around his miniature kitchen, bopping along to the radio and humming to the tune. He was so engrossed in whatever he was doing that he was oblivious to Harry’s arrival. Harry could see the strings of the apron that Fit Aiden had gotten him for his birthday, a joke one that displayed a voluptuous woman on the front, to put it nicely. Honestly, Harry had never worn it. But as Louis turned around, Harry vaguely thought that maybe it was there to be used by someone else.

Louis looked soft around the edges, hazy with sleep and relaxation. His skin had returned to its golden glow, and his eyes were no longer veiled with sleep. His hair, as predicted, looked kinked in random places through the silky strands. The sleep seemed to have done him a world of good, and for that, Harry felt somewhat pleased with himself.

Completely surprised by the surfer’s entrance, Louis jumped and made a startled noise, the two bowls in his hands shuddering. “Hitch!” he exclaimed. A smile lit up his lips, a one that was fuelled with more energy than that morning. He seemed to shine that tad brighter. Maybe it was the rest, but maybe he was just in his element.

“Uh, yeah, hi,” Harry said articulately, still utterly dumbfounded by the situation that he was definitely not expecting. A short bout of silence settled in between them, the cars driving by on the nearest road and the clatter of the sea being the only noise to clutter up their little moment.

“You- uh, that apron suits you,” was the second set of words to come out of Harry’s mouth, because, supposedly, he did not have the capability to just ask _why_ Louis was in his silly apron and had set up a dinner on his table.

Louis smiled widely, all straight teeth and reminders of purple bleeds under porcelain skin. “Ya’  think?” he asked, twisting around to give Harry a three-sixty view of his outfit. The sight made Harry laugh, especially because of the fact that for some reason, he could only see the apron as fitting perfectly over Louis’s curves, more so than the pattern being atrociously ironic. A delighted smile curled over Louis’s lips as Harry grinned with dying laughter, his eyebrows not even raised in _that_ way that he did far too often.

“Can I-?” Harry asked, gesturing towards the inside of the van. Why was he even asking to enter his own van? Probably because a lot of things seemed to change when Louis was around, but, anyway.

“Yes, yes, sure,” Louis confirmed. His hand raised to rub the back of his neck awkwardly, the apron riding up and bunching uncomfortably. “I, uhm, I hope it’s alright that I’m still here. I just, well, I wanted to thank you for letting me stay and-”

“It’s fine, Louis, honestly,” Harry interrupted gently. He closed the door behind him, conserving the heat that Louis had gathered nicely, and dropped his things on the floor. Harry resisted telling him that he liked it, those words were left dormant on his tongue. Louis gestured towards the makeshift table, smiling. Harry shuffled over and perched on the opposite side to where Louis had situated himself. He watched as Louis settled himself comfortable, shuffling his bottom on the padded seat and aligning his cutlery so that they were straight.

Louis’s hands were around his back and his face was one of pure concentration. His tongue poked out of the corner of his lips and his eyebrows were furrowed. He sighed heavily. “Can you undo the apron for me?” Louis asked, pouting.

Harry nodded wordlessly and slipped out from his seat. He knelt behind Louis and vaguely noted that the other boy’s head would rest on the jut of his collarbones if he leaned back slightly. His fingers brushed Louis’s back and he fiddled with the knot, the first touch making Louis tense but he tried to cover it up with an exaggerated cough. Once the strings retreated apart to Louis’s waist, Harry moved away from the warm cove of Louis and back to his seat.

The air was a little unsure. It was as if the water was still, only a few ripples curling the sea’s surface, and it was neither here nor there for a surfer’s decision. As threw the apron to the side, Harry could almost see the pearly white froth of the breaking wave ready to roll off his tongue and change the tide.

The change was something of a conundrum. It was not a tsunami, not crashing waves which knocked one down in one fell swoop. It was not stillness that led to disappointed hearts and exasperated sighs. It was the gradual and persistent hills of the sea never changing. It was a fair sized curl of the waves, not too big, not too small. It was the consistency of a caring and kind mind that had a hint on an oxymoronic pairing of perfectionism and spontaneity.

“I just- I wanted to make sure you knew how grateful I was for this, for everything, like, I didn’t realise how much I needed this until it happened and, like, that just shows how great you are because you just _knew._ So, like, I thought that the best way to show you was to make you dinner. And, well, here it is.”

“You didn’t have to...” Harry said quietly. Inside, his heart was beating as fast as when he frantically searched for the perfect wave in desperate need for caring touches. He tried not to think about it.

“I might not have had to, but I wanted to. You didn’t have to give up your time for me, but you wanted to, so you did. I’m just repaying the favour,” Louis contested.

“But mine was necessary. I mean, no offence, mate, but you looked like shit-”

“Offence well and truly taken!”

“- and you needed my help. I didn’t need this, and definitely you didn’t have to do this for me,” Harry argued.

Louis glanced down. His shoulders rose and fell in harmony with the rattling on the window. Harry watched as he dragged his bottom lip in with his front teeth and gulped. A sudden vulnerability was draped over him, flecks of something that lay underneath Louis’s hard shell poking through. “So you didn’t want this?”

“Wha- _no,_ Louis, that wasn’t what I meant,” Harry rubbed a calloused hand over his face, sighing, stuck. “Fuck, mate, I didn’t mean it like that at all. I really appreciate you doing this, honestly, it’s such a nice fuckin’ thing to do. I just don’t want you tiring yourself out because of me, y’know?”

Louis’s lips could not resist curling into a smirk, “I’m pretty sure you’ve already done that, multiple times...”

Harry cried out a mock-affronted, “Louis!”

Louis chuckled under his breath, smiling because of himself. A tiny stint of silence ensued, then Louis spoke gently, “So you’re okay with it?”

It was awfully cliché as Harry looked up from the steaming plate of food and caught Louis’s eye. The other boy refused to drop it, making sure that Harry could see every drop of sincerity that he wanted to convey. And of course Harry could see it. Harry could read the sea like the back of his hand, and Louis’s eyes were pretty similar.

“Yeah, totally,” Harry spoke, voice distant in his ears and mind hazy.

And then suddenly, Louis looked away and the crashing waves roared back in Harry’s ears.

“Tuck in before it gets cold,” he ordered with a goofy grin, immediately reaching for his fork and plunging it into a square of chicken.

After munching away at the meal, Harry could not hold in the comment that he was dying to give to Louis with the smirk that had just licked his lips. “Y’know, you must be really good at making curry, tastes almost the same as the Indian down the road...”

Louis hardly reacted, just lifted his eyebrows while bringing a forkful of rice to his mouth. Grains toppled off from the top of the mini mountain on his fork and some just missed his mouth, tumbling down his chin. It was not attractive, but Harry was not revolted. (Neither was he endeared, okay?)

“Yeah... especially these Bombay Potatoes, they taste exactly the same. Coincidence, huh?” Harry taunted, cocking up one eyebrow.

“Coincidence indeed,” Louis confirmed, serious, “Might have to get Liam to sort out some legal shit n’stuff, sue their thieving arses, yeah?”

“Yeah, totally,” Harry said, wide eyes and sarcastic tone all-too apparent. Honestly, Harry did not even know what to say to Louis. He was completely and utterly crazy; mad, in fact. But Harry would not hold that against him. It was too funny to not acknowledge.

Once Louis’s (aka Rahj’s Premier Indian Takeaway’s) meal had been polished off and their stomachs were so full that their limbs had turned weak, they sprawled over Harry’s bed. Whenever one shifted, the other was wrestled, and a subsequent groan followed.

“You don’t have a telly,” Louis stated out of the blue.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Harry said flatly. Louis’s arm flapped out and slapped Harry’s stomach, making him curl in on himself and let out an elongated whine of pain. “I hate you,” he croaked with no vehemence behind it at all.

“Oi, don’t call me that,” Louis ordered, scrunching up his nose in distaste. He went to slap Harry playfully again, but Harry caught his wrist just before it came in contact with his full stomach and quickly heaved the boy over before he had even realised that it had happened. Louis let out a winded ‘oof’ and scowled down at Harry, not amused in the slightest. Well, he was not showing it, anyway, what with those acting skills and whatnot.

“You call me Hitch!” exclaimed Harry.

“And?”

“What, so you can call me by a character’s name, but I can’t call you by one?”

“Yup,” Louis said simply. He smiled widely, teeth and all.

“That’s not fair. I demand a refund,” Harry stated. His bottom lip jutted out in apparent unhappiness and his eyebrows were stitched together with the thread of fake upset.

“Excuse you, but I don’t recall getting a fuckin’ barcode tattooed on my arse,” replied Louis, glaring down at Harry. His stare was not of malice; there was an arrangement of emotions in there, but what Harry could mainly see was the amusement lining the specks of darker blue.

“You sure about that?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised, mouth pursed and curled downwards in judgement.

“Pretty sure,” Louis answered after a few seconds of pretend-pondering.

“I dunno,” Harry said. His hand, which was previously resting on the curvature of Louis’s shoulder blade, started sliding down the smaller boy’s back until it cupped one of his buttocks. Harry looked up at Louis, all fluttering eyelashes and pools of green. “I think we should probably check...” His thumb twanged the waistband of Louis’s trousers suggestively, his colder skin skimming against the warm, soft strip of his lower back.

“You think?” Louis’s  voice had turned into a gravelly whisper. The heavy air around them had stuck in his throat, everything holding weight.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered.

It was all so very slow. Harry’s thumb dipped under the waistband of Louis’s trousers. It slid along and then pressed firmly onto the bone right at the very top of the crease between Louis’ arsecheeks. Louis tensed up as his thumb travelled further, tucking in between his cheeks and resting there with no intention of moving.

Harry slid the rest of his hand into the back of Louis’s trousers, making sure not to move the fully-obvious weight resting between the other boy’s cheeks. His long fingers moved over the warm skin, goosebumps shooting up on Louis’s arms. The span of his hand took over all of one of Louis’s cheeks. That, in itself, was a thought which went straight to Harry’s crotch. He could feel every centigrade of heat, every millimetre of smoothness, every ounce of pliability. His fingertips dug into the skin, his palm pressing down. Louis honestly had _the_ best arse he had ever seen or felt; that was most definite.

His other hand mirrored the action, taking Louis’s other arsecheek into his hand and letting it mould around his fingers. Unintentionally, through such neediness to make the most of having Louis’s arse in his hands, he spread his cheeks apart. This, in turn, made Harry’s thumb drop down lower. The tip of his thumb rested incredibly close to Louis’s hole. The way that it left them spread apart and the weight that it held made Louis’s stomach clench.

In a strained voice, Louis quietly said, “Don’t think that’s the best way to check, to be honest, Hitch.”

Harry hummed in reply, still thoroughly enjoying feeling one of Louis’s most private spans of skin. Louis’s head was buried in Harry’s neck, but Harry needed something more, needed to give more. He nudged the other boy’s head with his own, making Louis look up and give the perfect canvas for Harry’s lips to paint on. He pressed open-mouthed kisses over the sharp curve of his jaw, taking his time to nip the skin that covered the join and make redness bloom. He carried on down the boy’s neck, panting against the skin. He murmured to Louis to take off his top, something that was obeyed instantly with no objections.

Harry glanced from the sandy skin to the sea of Louis’s eyes, totally and utterly immersed in it all. The rush that was hurtling through his veins was startlingly similar to the one he got when surfing, although that was a depiction which Harry was adamant he would not do any time soon, especially not when he had a fabulous arse in his hands and a chest to be scattering with lovebites.

So Harry did just that. He let his mouth latch onto any spot of golden skin that it wanted. He sucked darkness up to the surface of the light skin, the night out of the sun. Louis’s breaths were short and heavy above him, no outright noises of pleasure yet to be heard. Harry knew that he would be inundated with them once he carried out what he had planned, oh, definitely.

Harry kept kissing down Louis’s chest until he reached the soft band that wrapped around Louis’s waist that was scattered with fine, dark hairs. His hands were still firmly sat on Louis’s arse and were determined to stay there, regardless of the awkwardness of whatever their next position became. The position now, however, had Louis’s arms straining as he held himself up and Harry shuffling slowly down his body, clothes disappearing gradually. Similar to before, he muttered “pants” to Louis to urge him to remove the item of clothing. Once again, Louis did so, though this time with a little more difficulty. Eventually, though, the clothing was thrown to the side, along with the boxers which had conveniently caught onto the trousers as they were pulled down.

Harry did not object, though, as Louis’s half-hard cock bobbed close to his face. Louis sighed in relief once his bottom half was free of the constricting heat. The air hit his exposed skin and made the presence of Harry’s wandering lips and hands even more obvious. The weight of Harry’s hands on his arse was intensified as the colder air moulded around his hands. The burning bites that littered his skin caught fire as the air brushed over them, the pain feeling so pleasurable that his cock thickened. He felt empowered in his position above Harry, yet he felt so defenceless to any of Harry’s touches.

Suddenly, to draw Louis from his thoughts, Louis’s dick was being dragged across Harry’s face. Harry was nuzzling into the, now fully hard, erection. He let it slide across his skin, precome that bubbled from the tip, as Harry’s lips were dragged apart by it, streaking the porcelain in shiny lines. Harry’s eyes were closed in enjoyment. He seemed totally enthralled by the feeling on his skin and took to nestling his nose at the base and letting his parted lips barely touch the heated skin. He sighed contentedly, and Louis did, too. The feeling was not overwhelming as the touches were so light, but seeing Harry so enthusiastic and so blissful because of it was enough to make him feel a spark ignite in his stomach.

Harry’s tongue suddenly licked a fat stripe along the vein along Louis’s cock and his lips wrapped around the head. He sucked harshly for a few seconds, tasting the precome and feeling the headiness of it the weight in his mouth, before pulling away. Louis had let out a stuttered gasp as he did so, his muscles clenching in pleasure.

But then Harry’s hands were tightening their grip on Louis’s arse and Harry was shuffling even lower. He pressed wet kisses on the top of Louis’s thighs. Reluctantly, he took one of his hands from Louis’s arse so that he could slide out from underneath Louis and position himself behind him.

“All fours,” Harry rasped, voice thick with lust, and tapped the strong muscle of Louis’s thigh.

Louis pulled his knees up, glad to give his arms some relief. The ache in his muscles, though, only added to the sexual tension that was rising by the second. Louis had never minded being in such a position, so exposed to whomever he was with. However, there was always that strand of doubt, worry, that was tied to his conscience. Being bare translated into being vulnerable, but, for some reason, Louis did not feel like that with Harry. Whatever Harry had up his sleeve, Louis wanted it. Whatever it was, he would take what he could get.

“Your arse is so fuckin’ fit, _fuck_ ,” Harry confessed in true awe. His hands ran all over the exposed skin, one slipping up his side and forcing a shudder to roll down Louis’s spine and the other roaming over his arse once again. A hand slipped ever so close to Louis’s throbbing cock, yet did not reach far enough to give it some relief.

Louis let out a hiss, for Harry’s teeth sunk into his arsecheek. He turned his head to scowl at Harry, who only smirked back cheekily and nipped the skin with his front teeth. A red mark bloomed so Harry swiped his tongue over the mark, soothing it.

“That _hurt,_ ” Louis whined, slapping his arm out aimlessly behind him. Harry ignored him, too fascinated by the exposure of Louis’s skin and the way his heart felt heavy and thick in his chest, most probably with lust.

“Can’t see it. Think you’re gunna have to change positions,” croaked Harry.

“Yeah?” Louis asked breathlessly, previous complains washed away, “How’d’ya want me?”

“Head down, arse up,” he stated plainly. His wrapped his hands around Louis’s hips, feeling the hot skin beneath his hands and the soft padding of fat that Harry could caress for hours on end, mapping it out with his fingers and letting canyons form under his fingers. He pressed his thumbs down on the bone of his lower back, urging him to change his position. The pressure made everything feel real, kept him grounded from drifting off into the world of mountains in the sea and golden sand.

Of course, Louis obeyed without hesitation, eager. His arse was pushed high in the air, on full show to Harry’s blown pupils. Harry murmured compliments mixed with profanities whilst Louis stayed silent, breathing onto the skin of his arm in shallow breaths. His eyelids dropped closed, waiting patiently. He could feel Harry’s eyes roaming all over him, yet he felt no discomfort at all. He felt safe with those mossy-coloured eyes tracing invisible patterns all over his skin. He did not know what was in amongst them, whether a certain feeling, which he indeed felt, was threaded in between the tiny rocks of gold, but he hoped that maybe it was there. The thought of it being there made his stomach coil around itself.

But then Harry’s fingers spread apart his cheeks, and his tongue was licking a fat stripe over his hole.

Louis’s body jumped in shock. Every feeling rushed through his body a hundred miles an hour, stunning his limbs into a spark of tension. Harry’s tongue was burning hot and slick with spit over his hole. His mind was washed of anything other than _harry_ and _tongue_ and _hot_ and _harry._

“Fucking _hell,_ ” Louis swore. His fingers gripped at the roots of his hair, pulling it to try and channel his pleasure in some kind of way.

Harry’s tongue circled Louis’s hole, prodding around the puckered edge. Louis let out a magnificently guttural moan as it dipped into his the ring of muscle, scalding inside of Louis with a fire that shocked Louis to the core. He kept moving his tongue in and out of Louis’s hole, not entering him far, but enough to make Louis whimper. His senses seemed to be heightened and every slick lick was enough to make his insides whorl. Louis could feel Harry’s breath curling over his sensitive skin. A shudder jumped over the knobs of his spine every time.

Harry’s hand moved from Louis’s arsecheek and inched closer to Louis’ cock. Before it could reach the strained erection, Louis’s hand flew out to slap it away.

“ _No_ ,” Louis croaked. “I wanna- _shit-_ I wanna come from your mouth. I don’t wan’ anythin’ else, jus’ your tongue.” His voice was so breathless by the end, his words unable to be finished with that definition that made it so distinguishable.

“Fuck _, Louis,”_ Harry groaned. His tongue was aching and heavy in his mouth, but still wanting to swipe over Louis’s arse. His nose nuzzled in the crease between Louis’s cheeks, breathing streams of hot air onto the wetness to make it tickle with sensitivity. Everything was hot. Everything was a mess of lust and passion. Everything was Louis and Harry was totally and utterly overwhelmed. His eyelashes brushed against Louis’s skin, a feather light touch that made Louis spit a distressed:

“Jus’ fuckin’ _do_ somethin’, Hitch, for fucks sake,”

Upon order, Harry moved his face away from Louis’ arse. He let his teeth sink into the firm flesh, his tongue painting circles in the small coven he created with his mouth. He sucked on the skin, desperate for that splodge of red to stain the perfect skin. He pulled away, delighted to see the mark, _his_ mark.

Harry then spread Louis’s cheeks again, revealing the glistening, puckered hole that made his mouth salivate. He pressed the flat of his tongue over his hole, an intense heat covering it and making tingles fester in every pore of Louis’s skin. Spit dribbled down Harry’s tongue, speeing into Louis’s skin and making his eyes roll up in pleasure. It was, however, when Harry curled his tongue over his hole, that Louis arched his back and let out a dry sob in pure ecstasy. Heat encased his body as he went into overdrive, the feeling inexplicable.

 _“ Jesus Christ,”_ Louis spluttered, chest heaving. Harry continued to curl his tongue expertly and made shocks roll up Louis’s arm and wrap around his neck, strangling him with bliss. Sweat pooled in the crevices between his shoulder blades and the dimples in his lower back. He could not think; his mind was fuzzy.

Quicker than Louis could piece it together, Harry’s tongue was removed from Louis’s entrance and his lips were surrounding it. Louis always knew that those pouty, cherry-red lips would be useful for something, and he definitely added them being on his arse as one of those uses. Louis would have wanted to see those lips over his hole, his mouth in between his arse, but he could not focus on that when said lips were sucking the wrinkled skin and sucking hard.

Louis let out another sob and squeezed his eyes tight shut. Louis was trembling, his firm, strong thighs shaking. Harry hummed against his skin, shock waves rolling through his body with such vehemence that Louis garbled out a mangled moan, a sob mixed in there just to be sent straight to Harry’s cock. His fists were clenched together and his nails were close to breaking the skin of his palm. His teeth were biting his bottom lip blood-red, and his breathing was heavy.

Unintentionally, he pushed back onto Harry’s mouth, eager for more pressure. “ _Shitshitshitshit- yes,_ ” he whimpered as Harry’s teeth scraped across his entrance. The immense feeling was bringing tears to his eyes. His eyelashes were dampening with glistening tears, stars stitched onto the silk sky.

“Y’gunna come for me, Louis?” Harry whispered, breath fanning over the reddened skin, consequently making Louis shiver.  Before letting Louis answer, Harry nipped at the soft skin behind Louis’s balls before licking a line all the way up.

“C-close, so fuckin’ close,” Louis sobbed, lips plumping out and sweat rolling down his temples.

Harry spat a globule of saliva down the crease of Louis’s arse, letting it drip all the way down the slick skin. The air was cold around them, yet still thick in its own fervour, and tried to lick up the spit and replace it with a tingling coolness. Before the air could affect them, two of Harry’s fingers were massaging around his rim. His fingertips spread it apart, stretched the softened hole until a shooting pain shot down Louis’s spine.

Louis threw his head back. A tear dribbled out of the corner of his eye and splattered onto his arm. It seared his skin and matched the stomach-curdling sob he blew out of his lips. With one more touch of Harry’s tongue in his stretched hole, Louis was shooting ribbons of come all over the bed sheets. Harry was unrelenting with the circular rubs of his fingers and kitten licks on his hole, somewhere that was gaining painful sensitivity. He whimpered through it, the odd tear still falling as he let the bliss overwhelm him.

Eventually, as Louis’s twitches looked to be fuelled with pain more so than pleasure, Harry pulled back from the reddened arse in front of him. He gently pushed the Louis’s hips to ease him onto his side. Louis was worn out, his limbs weak and his body pliant under Harry’s large hands. Harry rearranged him until he was curled into Harry’s body, warm and soft.

“Y’still haven’ come,” Louis murmured, jaw slack.

“Gimme’ a minute,” Harry replied. He shucked down his trousers to his knees and pressed the heel of his hand to his clothed erection. Within a few minutes of circling pushes against his cock, Harry was groaning under his breath and blurting come into his boxers.

A few minutes passed with the haze dissipating away. Louis hummed and flipped over tiredly. His face nuzzled into Harry’s neck and he muttered quietly, “That was nice.”

“Mhm,” Harry agreed.

“Maybe we should do it again sometime...” Louis hinted suggestively.

Harry yawned and glanced down at Louis, who was fast on his way to falling asleep, if his fluttering eyelids had anything to do with it.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said softly. “Definitely maybe.”

-|-

“You’re ill, and you need to go to bed.”

“I’m not, I’m fine!” whined a snotty-nosed, croaky-voiced Louis.

“You just put the green tea bag in the coffee mug and the whipped cream on the tea; you’re not fine.”

Harry watched as Lou battled with the dishevelled boy who was certain that the red rims around his eyes, the pockets of lavender under his eyes, the redness of his nose, and the lack of bounce in his step, had nothing to do with his health. Of course, everyone could tell that he was somewhat under the weather, even a vacant pensioner who offered him her hanky. Louis politely refused.

“I’m _fine,_ ” Louis insisted. In reaction to an unattractive dribble of snot coming out of his nose, he wiped it with the back of his hand. Okay, so maybe it was a little cute the way Louis looked so warm and worn and just generally soft, but _that_ was not attractive in anyone’s books, especially not Harry.

“Look, I can’t afford to kill all my customers off and face murder charges just because you wouldn’t get ya’ fat arse home to rest,” Lou said seriously. “Those things cost a lot, and I have a small child to support for another, like, lifetime. So, like, I’ll have to banish you from the premises if you don’t leave, like, now. ”

“Banish me?” Louis said, either feigning offence or actually feeling insulted, his blocked nose seemed to cut off any tone other than whine in his voice.

“Yes, banish,” Lou said with a nod and deadly serious eyes.

“I can’t do that,” Louis said in one last bid to save himself.

“Oh, no, you can’t, because you’re a twelve year old child who doesn’t know the difference between fuckin’ E and Paracetamol,” Lou said, somewhat condescendingly, Harry noticed.

“Oi, that was an honest mistake!” Louis exclaimed weakly. Harry almost wanted to pat him on the head in comfort as he fought a losing battle.

Lou ignored his retaliation and turned to Harry, eyes wide and an imaginary light bulb flashing above her head. “Harry can look after you, y’know, because you’re an incompetent little fuck ‘n all that.”

“That’s unfair. I’m not totally incompetent...” Louis said pathetically, shoulders slouching and head bowing.

“When you’re ill, you are,” Lou stated in reply, not even glancing in Louis’s direction. Louis sighed deeply, Harry saw out of the corner of his eye. “So, H, what’d’ya say? Fancy pullin’ on that nurses costume y’got and lookin’ after Moaning Minnie over there?”

Harry’s eyes widened and a red flush pooled in his cheeks. He could feel the heat rushing around every part of his body in utter humiliation. The purple (“it’s _lilac,_ Harry, not _purple._ ”) haired lady smirked triumphantly as she took in Harry’s mortified reaction. Harry saw the way that Louis’ head had shot up instantly, jaw dropped and glassy eyes shockingly wide. Even he had a flush upon his cheeks, though Harry was unsure whether that was because of his illness or not. He hoped it was the former, and not because he believed that Harry had one (he did) and imagined what he looked like in it (Harry would most definitely say, “no comment,” to that one).

“If I win that surfing competition next summer, d’you think I’ll have enough money to support the lawyer charges when I fuckin’ _kill_ you?” Harry said, scowling. The red-tinged acid wash on his cheeks was not going to dissipate any time soon, he was sure of that, especially since Louis’s reaction was waltzing around his mind without any intention of stopping.

Lou stuck her tongue out at him childishly and then instinctively turned in the direction of an awful hacking cough making a racket in the café. Her sympathies seemed to change upon seeing Louis almost doubled over, holding his stomach as he rattled out a hideous splutter.

“Aw, darlin’,” she cooed, embracing Louis and holding him in her arms like a mother would. She rested her head on the top of his comfortingly and then spoke again, this time with a cheeky smirk on her lips and a teasing twinkle in her eye as she winked. “Nurse Harry will do an examination and then treat you with his special cream, don’t you worry.”

“Lou!” Harry cried out in embarrassment.

Louis, though, seemed not to notice as he innocently muttered a barely distinguishable, “I’ll take anything.”

Lou bit on her lip to stop herself from bursting into a cackle of laughter, while Harry just looked at Louis with an amused expression mixed with something else. Louis was well and truly out of it, by the looks of things, and with that, Harry could not _not_ help him out.

“C’mon then,” Harry said with a sigh. He sidled up to Louis and hooked his arm around his body, taking him in his arms. “D’you wanna go back to yours or back to mine?”

Louis swallowed thickly and blinked a few times, evidently trying to clear his head a bit, and spoke quietly. “Yours, please.” He melded into Harry’s body, curling around his limbs and snuggling into Harry’s strong structure.

Harry smiled and nodded. “Where’re his things?” he asked Lou. Said lady quickly popped into the back and returned with a worn brown satchel and a flimsy coat. She handed them to Harry with a kind smile, any hints of teasing seemingly invisible.

“Oi, H,” Lou called as the Harry and Louis were walking (more like stumbling, in Louis’ case) out of the door. Harry turned around, twisting Louis with him, something which was not appreciated apparently. “I might see ya’ tonight, yeah? Lux is off to my mam’s for the weekend.”

Harry smiled and nodded in response, going to throw in a thumbs up just for the sake of it but after finding Louis’s dead weight a little tricky to withstand, deciding to just leave. He dragged the boy up to his van. Thankfully, the fresh air seemed to slap Louis’s brain into action and he was less of an invalid and a tad more cooperative.

“Y’don’t have to do this, y’know,” he muttered into Harry’s neck.

“Pretty sure Lou would chop my balls off if I didn’t, so, yeah, I kinda do,” joked Harry.

“Well, other than that, you didn’t need to. I don’t want you to miss work or something.”

“Luckily for you, this bratty family who I’ve taught, like, twice, cancelled so I’m free all day,” Harry explained.

He slid the door of his van open and lugged Louis in with him. Caspar jumped up to greet Louis, but with only a gentle pat on his head and no vigorous greeting, he settled on a quick sniff and made his way back to the front seat. Harry pulled back the covers to his bed and plonked Louis down on the mattress. The boy immediately lay down, sighing happily as his muscles moulded into the soft mattress.

 “You’re making a habit of this, y’know, making me all domesticated and shit,” Harry said. It was said lightly as to not hold too much significance, but Louis’ eyes opened at the words and looked at Harry curiously.

“S’not my fault,” Louis murmured. He threw his arm over his eyes in a way that Harry would describe as over-dramatic, but because it was Louis, and it was an ill-Louis, the comment seemed to fall flat.

“Sure it isn’t,” Harry said as he pulled the blanket over Louis’s body. “Get some rest, yeah?”

“Yes, _Nurse,_ ” Louis answered. Another blush bloomed on Harry’s cheeks in reaction to the teasing remark. He decided not to reply to the taunt, knowing that he would only end up digging himself into an even bigger hole.  

Instead, he just ordered a simple “sleep”, and turned away from the drowsy yet still cheeky boy.

Before he knew it, Louis was fast asleep, chest rising and falling as he breathed shallow breaths and eyes closed peacefully. Usually, when Harry was on the van, he would turn the radio on straight away. He liked there to be some kind of noise, whether it be music, talking, or the waves crashing. However, he did not dare wake Louis up in the middle of his sleep. He had done that to Nick once when he had the flu, and never again would he do it. The scar front the clip around the head he got was probably still there, and, although Louis was not wearing a ring, he was a feisty little soldier and there was every chance that he had a good backhander.

Instead, Harry sat down on the sofa, propping his feet up, and let Caspar slink over to him and beg for some attention. Of course, Harry could not reject those eyes, nor could he seem to reject the exhausted-blue eyes of Louis either.

Why he was offering up his services, his time, his energy, to Louis was something that Harry could not get his head around. Obviously, Louis was a mate, and Harry was not heartless, but there was something else that made his stomach twist in discomfort. Everything they did seemed to be so _domesticated._ Yes, Harry had to grow up awfully fast after his family’s accident, but that did not mean that he was a full ‘grown up’ who thought conscientiously and felt responsible for someone.

Did Harry feel responsible for Louis? No, not really. Louis was a flamboyant, outrageous, conspicuous man who was in his early twenties and supported himself fully, so Harry had no reason to be. So then why did he always seem to be the one to help him in his times of need?

Maybe it was because Louis had somehow helped Harry just by being a fresh face, exciting his life. Maybe it was because Louis was not like the people who seemed over-sympathetic, or the ones who were anything _but_ sympathetic. He was a happy medium, and that settled right in Harry’s ribcage.

Maybe Harry just wanted to feel useful. Maybe Harry just wanted to feel needed. Maybe.

The surfer leaned over his fluffy dog and rummaged around in a drawer. His hands passed many objects that Harry really did not need but did not have the willpower to throw out. Harry liked tokens of memories. He wondered what Louis’s would be, but then he remembered that he did not need to think about that when Louis was sprawled across his bed. He pulled out a scratty toy that made Caspar swish his tail from side to side. He tossed it back to the contented dog and pulled out a magazine.

This issue of _Carve_ dated back a good few months and Harry could probably recite it from how long he spent studying the articles. Undeterred, though, because he could never skim his eyes over a dine set of surfing photos from across the other side of the world, Harry flicked through the magazine to keep him occupied.

Harry could only dream of going to those certain surfing spots where every surfer is just desperate to visit. He was never going to be able to travel as far as say, Australia, so he would just have to continue fawning over photos of clear seas and massive waves. He wondered if he did save up for the trip of a lifetime to one of those spots one day, whether he would bring someone else to experience it with. Nick would be a no go, because as great a friend he is to Harry and how much he loves surfing, Harry would not want it to be tainted with droning complains and snide remarks. Lou would never want to fly that far, and Tom would not have the willpower to stay away from work. Harry would love to take Lux, when she was older, but the responsibility would be too much to cope with. Niall would not appreciate the surfing. Liam would not bear to be away from Zayn, and vice versa. And all the others were close enough for Harry to consider them.

Except Louis. But Louis was, well, Louis was _Louis_ and Harry was not going to let himself think that he would voluntarily take Louis on his trip of a lifetime. That would hold more meaning than Harry could support.

Eventually, one magazine and one cup of tea with two digestive biscuits later, Louis started to stir.  Harry was engrossed in carefully cutting up grapes in half (he had his reasons: 1. Grapes must be something you give to ill people because they always used to bring them in TV dramas he watched with his- with his mum. 2. Louis would probably be hungry. 3. If Louis suddenly started wanting to puke it all up, the halves wouldn’t be as bad to come back up. 4. Gorgeous George’s grapes always tasted the nicest.), that he did not notice Louis’s awakening at first. Once he had pushed them off the chopping board and into a bowl, along with some cubes of cheese and some buttered crackers, he swivelled around to see Louis jostling in the bed and his eyelids fluttering open.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry said softly. He placed the bowl to the side and picked up the glass of water and two tablets he had ready, and shuffled over to Louis’s side.

“Waz’goin’on?” Louis slurred. His voice was thick and his words were jumbled up together. His eyes were barely open. A thin sheen of sweat lined his forehead, his skin shiny. Suddenly, panic leaked into his voice and his chest started rising up and down in fast pants. His eyes widened, and he moved around the bed frantically. “Where am I? What’s happenin’? What- I- you- who- ow- I- where- you-”

Harry tried not to panic himself, yet it was a little tricky when he had never been in such a situation before. Using the calmest voice he could conjure up, he placed his hand on Louis’ arm and spoke. “Hey, hey, Louis, it’s alright. You were ill so I brought you up here to have a rest, that’s all. It’s okay, babe, don’t panic, you’re okay.”

Louis shook his head hysterically. “No, no, no, no, no. You- you’re not- n-nurse, nurse.”

Harry smiled in sympathy at the panicked boy. “No, mate, it’s Harry. There’s no nurse.”

“Y-yes there was.”

 “Here, Lou, have these, yeah? They’ll make you feel better,” Harry said. He offered up the glass of water and two white pills that sat in the palm of his hand.

Instead of getting the reaction Harry thought he would get, the hand holding the tablets was slapped away and the water was pushed with such force that it sloshed over the sides. Straight after, before Harry had even had a chance to react, Louis was scrambling to the edge of the bed, as far away from Harry as he could.

“N-no, no, there’s a nurse. I want the nurse,” Louis begged, eyes flickering around. Was this some trick a fever played? Did Louis even have a fever? What the fuck was going on?

“Louis, just take these-”

“No,” Louis snapped. His voice was shaky after his the sharp bite he took out of the air from his words. “I’m not taking anything unless it’s from the nurse.”

“I’m not going to give you anything bad. It’s just me, Lou; I’m not a stranger,” Harry argued, still completely bemused.

“No,” Louis said simply, sinking under the sheet. He glared at Harry, but his eyes had turned somewhat bleary underneath his lids. His head flopped onto the pillow, his face turned to Harry. Before he pulled his way out of delirium and back into the land of sleep, he muttered, “I want the nurse.”

And then, well, then Harry was entirely perplexed.

His head was all a bit of a blur of the words ‘no’ and ‘want’ and ‘nurse’. One of the most confusing parts for Harry was not the random delirious nature that Louis had taken on; it was the whole _nurse_ thing. Harry was fairly sure that he did not claim to be Louis’ snurse at any point, nor was there a nurse even close by to give off that impression. It was as if he did not even recognise Harry, that who Harry was to him was not even a factor in it at all. Harry pondered upon it as Louis’s lips parted, the glue between them peeling apart into a tiny split of darkness.

Where it had come from, Harry had not been sure of until a certain blush-forming moment sprung to mind.

Of _course._

“That fucking _nurse’s_ outfit,” Harry grumbled to himself. He could feel a blush licking the skin of his cheeks again.

The mention of it must have triggered something in Louis’s brain while he was asleep, made him think of a nurse. Harry was mortified that Louis had not been out of it enough when Lou had mentioned it and had subconsciously used the information to humiliate Harry even more. What was worse was that Louis refused to have any tablets to help his delirium because of the whole debacle.

How the hell was he meant to help him get better when he refused to take anything unless it was from someone that was not Harry?

The nurse’s outfit.

Inside, the thought made Harry kind of crazy, in the mad way, not the angry way. He swore after that plastered night that he would never put on that outfit ever again, _ever._ It was to stay in his draw, tucked underneath all of his clothes, forever, and never make a reappearance. But there he was, considering putting it on all because of Louis. Fucking Louis.

Harry would not have even considered it if he did not feel so sorry for Louis. Especially after his fevered moment, Harry just wanted the bouncing, bubbly boy back. With his hair plastered to his forehead, a sweaty sheen over his skin, his eyes drawn and his whole body tired; Harry’s heart lurched for him. He did not know whether it was too much to go back to that god-awful outfit just for Louis’ sake, but it seemed like the only option.

To reaffirm his decision, Louis tossed and turned in the bed. He looked so uncomfortable and distressed. Harry wanted to smooth down the creases between his eyebrows and move his lips so they did not have that saddening little downturn. He knew it was dramatic of him to be thinking such things, but there was something about Louis that was vulnerable, and Harry did not want it to be exploited without Louis even realising.

With a sigh, closed eyes, and a shake of his head, Harry stood up from his squatting position and traipsed over to his clothes draw. Half of his brain was shouting at him, telling him that he was being a complete twat for even thinking about it and that it was only going to cause more embarrassment for him. The other half was arguing back, saying that Louis was worth it and that at least it would spice up Harry’s life a bit, give him something to laugh at as well as regret.

With a final muttered ‘fuck it’ and all of his inhibitions thrown out of the window, for the sake of good health, of course, Harry dug around in his draw for that dreaded outfit. He tried not to think too much as he pulled it out, the length unravelling and the whole dress displaying itself to him, mocking him. Regardless of the time of day it was, Harry had the right mind to down half a bottle of vodka for this.

He took off his clothes, leaving him standing stark naked. His moment of ‘what the fuck am I doing’ and ‘why the fuck am I doing this’ was brushed out of his mind as he slipped his leg into it. He shimmied it up his body and tugged it over his (practically non-existent) hips. Once his arms were through and the back was zipped up awkwardly, Harry sighed at his own antics. Memories of the last time he wore it came flooding back, some funny, some not so much. The coldness of his legs was made up for in the freeness of the skirt.

He glanced at himself in the small mirror that he had. He could only see from just below the end of the dress to the belt that had been stitched on. The hem of the white material lay high up his thighs, revealing his long, matchstick legs. The embroidery of dark hairs on his legs made it well and truly obvious that the dress was not meant for him. It made it look obscene. Silently, Harry thanked the fact that it was long enough to cover his flaccid cock, or else that would have given off the total wrong impression. He was only wearing it for medical purposes, remember?

He tilted the mirror to look up his body, to look at the way the dress hugged at his body. A red strip embellished the costume, running all the way up to the collar which dipped low to reveal jutting collarbones. A red cross embellished the white material; evidently the stethoscope that Harry placed around his neck, or the hat that he pinned onto his mane of curls, was not enough of an indicator.

 He twisted around to get a view of the back. The material was taut around his arse and stopped inches before it would become explicit. The back looked strong as the bones and muscles of his shoulder blades twitched underneath the coarse material. He tilted the mirror to look at the rest of the dress, feeling a blush creep up his neck and mottle his cheeks. He was wearing a _dress,_ for God’s sake, _just_ for Louis. What was _wrong_ with him?

Harry had no time to contemplate or back out, as Louis whined and rolled around restlessly in the bed. Harry whipped his head around, watching as Louis pried open his eyes. Seizing the opportunity, Harry snatched the water and tablets from the side and padded over to Louis. He missed the choked gasp and interpreted the whine to be that of pain, not pleasure. Louis’s pupils were dilated, infecting the Coffee Blue of his eyes. His hair was pushed from his forehead to display all of his pale face, drawn and ill.

“Nurse?” Louis croaked pathetically. He shifted under the sheets and pulled out his hand to make grabby hands at Harry. Did Louis really not realise that the ‘nurse’ was Harry? The prospect was baffling. But, then again, Harry did not know whether he wanted Louis to realise that it was him, anyway, because the ribbing he would get would be insufferable.

Harry did not say anything, nor did he agree, just blushed furiously. In his head, his mind was reeling with the taunts that he would have to survive through if it got out that he had done such a thing. But then he glanced down at the wide-eyed, sick-Louis, and the teases quieted down a tad.

Wordlessly, Harry offered up the tablets and water to Louis. His hat slid out of his hair and covered his eyes. He huffed in frustration and pushed up again, his vision returning and showing the tiniest flash of a curling at the corner of Louis’s mouth before it disappeared. Strange.

Louis swallowed the tablets and gulped down the water, eyes open and watching Harry. Those eyes had not left him once, always trained on his every movement that he made. They ran down the (lack of, yet accentuated in such an outfit) curves of his body and the length of his legs. Harry’s body was being scrutinized by, presumably, delirious eyes, and they were unlikely to stop any time soon. Even as Louis moved on the bed, lifting the sheets up and readjusting them overhis body, he did not look away.

Harry was not sure what to do then. He was standing there, in a nurses outfit, an ill boy lying in his bed, an empty glass in his hand and two tablets safely swallowed by the sick. Who was he to do? Keep up the act while Louis was awake? Wait until the tablets had set to work? Just stand there?

Thankfully, unaware of his (or _her_ ) discomfort, Louis rasped out a, “thanks, nurse,” just to remind Harry that he was in fact pretending to be a nurse.

Louis settled back under the blankets, sinking into the mattress and closing his eyes. He was cocooned up and presumably ready for sleep, and so Harry turned away, ready to get unchanged. He bent down and grabbed a plastic bag to shove the outfit in once he had taken it off. Harry was fully aware that, as he bent down, his bare arse would be on full show to Louis. The skirt would ride up show everything, _everything._ It would be right in Louis’s face, and there for a good viewing, too, as Harry rummaged around for a while for the hidden bag. However, Harry did not need to think about those things because Louis was most definitely-

- _not_ asleep.

Harry spun around quickly to see the action be matched up with the noise.

The slick sound of skin upon skin. The restrained pants between parted lips. The rustling of the sheets.

The sound of a fast fist pumping a hardened cock.

Louis’s eyes were wide open, only thin blue rings surrounding an endless pool of black. His lips were bitten red and stark against the paleness of his skin. His cheeks were hollowed a little, sharp cheekbones jutting out. As Harry turned around, he let out his first, unrestrained, moan. It was thick and gravelly. It was as if it had been peeled off the back of his throat, shaped around his tongue, and then danced into the world with nimble feet but a conspicuous taste.

Harry’s mind went into overdrive because, fuck, Louis was not delirious; he was playing upon his acting skills and making Harry look like a total twat. And now he was _wanking_ because of it, right in front of Harry.

“You fuckin’ knobhead,” Harry spat. Harry’s cheeks burned red. He was humiliated, mortified, embarrassed, and any other emotions which could relate to the fact that he had been scammed. Some of his embarrassment was turning into anger, some of it was just lingering there, unable to comprehend what the fuck had happened.

Louis smirked. He was all flushed cheeks, red-rimmed eyes and rosy lips. He looked wrecked, and he had not even come yet. Harry could not _not_ appreciate that because, hell, he looked fucking gorgeous.

“I couldn’t get it out my mind, y’know?” Louis said breathlessly, fist still pumping under the covers. “I- when Lou said it, all I could think about was how fuckin’ _incredible_ you would look in it and- shit, I needed to see it, like, straight away. And, fuck, Hitch, you really did not disappoint.”

Once again, his eyes traced over Harry’s body with pure, unadulterated hunger seeping throughout them. He licked his lips and whimpered quietly, eyes closing for a few seconds to regain some kind of control. Instead of being embarrassed by said eyes, a shiver ran down Harry’s spine and curled in a knot the base of his back. He stumbled backwards, back hitting the wall of his van.

“I mean, God, have you not _seen_ yourself? You look _obscene,_ ” Louis groaned.

“I-”

“Those fuckin’ _legs_. I just wanna run my hands up and down them. They go on forever; it’s insane.” His hand was slow under the sheet, hitting the material with less ferocity than before. He seemed to be stroking his cock slower, prolonging it and letting his thoughts make more of an impact than the friction on his cock. Harry hands grappled the side of the van in desperation. Things were skirting ever so close to the edge and Harry was not sure if he would be able to stop them even if he wanted to. (He didn’t.)

“Your thighs, too. _Jesus._ I just wanna- shit, I just wanna fuck them. I wanna put my hard cock in between those strong thighs and thrust between them so fuckin’ fast you’ll get fuckin’ friction burns and not be able to keep your legs together for days.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry choked, throwing his head back. He could feel his dick thickening underneath the thin material of the skirt. Louis’s voice was raspy with illness, yet gravelly with lust. The combination was deadly.

“I wanna dig my fingers into your waist as my cock moves between your legs. Wanna get cum all over your pretty pale skin and that fuckin’ costume.”

Harry hummed in agreement, the scene playing out in his head with perfect clarity. The skirt was becoming tighter around the crotch. It could barely hold his width beforehand, let alone when he had an erection straining it too.

“I wanna unbutton your dress,” Louis said, panting. His fist was picking up speed, the song of skin upon skin playing in Harry’s ears deliciously. “And I wanna lick your skin and suck on your nipples. ‘Cos you like that, I know you like that. And your back’ll arch and you’ll look like some kinda’ fuckin’ model or dancer, all lain out just for me in your pretty little dress.”

Harry pushed the skirt up so that he could wrap a hand around his erection. The white material gathered around his upstanding cock. It looked sinful, so flush and dark against the clean white. He let out a relieved sigh as he curled his fingers around it. He cracked his eyes open to see Louis watching him intently, lustfully.

“No,” Louis breathed, “no, pull it down.”

Harry whined. The thought of pulling such tight material over his throbbing cock was painful to even consider, let alone act upon. He pouted his bitten red lips. Louis let out a breathy whimper.

“No- hear me out. I want you to pull it down and then undo one of the buttons. I wanna see your cock comin’ out of that dress. All hard and wet. I want you to be drippin’ for me. Want you to be a good girl for me. Pretty little girl, yeah, that’s what you are, pretty little girl.”

Harry felt his mind drift away. He was overwhelmed completely. Somehow, he seemed to obey Louis, even with numb fingertips and a tornado storming through his veins. He pulled the skirt of the outfit down and willed away the unpleasant friction that it brought. His fingers fumbled with the button for far too long, but his hard cock and Louis’s previous words and tiny noises that were spewing out of his mouth were setting his body on fire. Eventually, though, the button popped open and he slipped his cock through the gap.

As soon as he did so, Louis let out a guttural groan that left Harry’s legs shaking in anticipation. His hungry eyes devoured the sight before him, branding all of Harry’s skin with streaks of lust, attraction, and fervour. He was enthralled by the boy in front of him. His world was centred around the nurse dressed-Harry whose dick looked obscene as it poked through the dress.

“ _Holy shit,_ ” Louis moaned. Harry started stroking his cock and, once again, making Louis whimper pathetically. His head was thrown back, eyes closed and sharp jaw line exposed to Louis’s ravenous eyes.

“Look at you, all pretty for me. With your gorgeous curls and your rosy lips. Fuck, I want those lips on me so bad. D’ya think you could bend over in front of the mirror while you suck my cock so I can see that bare arse of yours when your dress rides up? Like you did before. You’re such a fuckin’ tease. Such a slut in that tiny dress with your big cock.”

Louis’s hips bucked up off the mattress, fist pumping ten to the dozen. He garbled out expletives as his orgasm wound around his body until he was spilling all over his fist. Harry watched the scene unfold, the way that Louis’s eyes rolled back and his jaw fell slack. He fed on the expressions and the noises that Louis performed, using them to fuel his fast approaching climax. Soon enough, he was copying Louis’ motions. He came all over his hand, warm liquid covering his hand and staining his dress.

After coming down from their highs and letting their weak limbs regains strength, Harry plonked himself on the bed, beside Louis. Tiredly, he peeled off the outfit until he was fully naked, too spent to really care.

“This is not going any further than the walls of this van, y’hear me?” Harry grumbled.

Louis hummed in response and nuzzled into Harry’s bare skin, dozing off almost instantly.

And, well, that was that, apparently.

-|-

True to his word, Louis did not breathe a word of the happenings to anyone. Even as Lou taunted them about the whole nurse/patient situation as they lounged around the campfire, Louis just lay peacefully and did not utter a word about it. Harry thought that maybe he was still a little drowsy and under the weather; after all, as much as Louis protested that a wank could do wonders, he did not think that it cured illnesses.

 Harry had straight out refused to let Louis go to the campfire that Friday night. Before Louis had even finished his sentence relating to gathering, Harry had cut him off with a resounding no. Louis whined and pouted for a little while, trying to waggle his way into Harry’s conscience and make him change his mind.

But Harry was supposed to be looking after him for the day, and the least he could do was make sure that the poor sod did not get even sicker.

Somehow, though, Louis and his wangling ways were too much for Harry to deal with, and he gave in to the pleas without even realising. When he sighed in defeat and muttered a, ‘fine, okay,’ Louis had looked positively ecstatic. Harry did not understand why Louis was so insistent about going. There were many more he gatherings he would go to, so why could he not just miss one of them? When Harry brought that up, Louis cowered away a little and his smile seemed to turn just a tad meek. He shrugged it off and started pleading with Harry once again, but Harry had definitely caught the look, and was definitely confused as to its origin.

Louis confused Harry quite a lot. That much was probably obvious. But recently, he would sneak out (well, sneaking out would assume he was always around Harry and he wasn’t, but he would have to go and do ‘things’ when he usually wouldn’t, that was all) randomly and come back a few hours later. Sometimes his expression was drawn afterwards, sometimes excited, sometimes just in between. It was hard to predict which one it would be, because one time he could have been having a right laugh with Harry and Lux, then when he returned, his demeanour would have changed entirely.

But Harry was not going to question it. He had no right to, and he was not sure whether he really wanted to know either. Asking would mean that he had been thinking about it, would mean that he took time out of the sea to think about something that was not his life. That, in turn, could possibly give the impression that something (someone) had made an impact on him, had made a splash that crashed loud enough to disrupt the calm.

Instead, Harry would just leave it be and pretend that it was just a figment of his imagination. It probably was, anyway, so he decided that there was no point even thinking about it. The pair of them was drifting along nicely, and Harry really did not want to force some kind of boulder in the middle of the straight path. He did not want to layer the flat road with rocks of complications that were carved by unnecessary thoughts. No, straight and simple, that was how it was and how it was going to stay.

So there Harry was, in the cold, on the beach, sitting around a burning campfire, in only a flimsy t-shirt and a pair of jeans because he had shed the other layers to give to Louis. Louis was all cosy beside him, warm with rosy blotches on his paled skin. He was tucked under Lou’s motherly arm, a soft smile on his face. Occasionally, Harry spotted her giving Louis a tight squeeze and a warm, caring smile. It was sweet to see that she had taken him under her wing just as she did with Harry. Harry could definitely see how they fit together, what with their quirky and flamboyant ways.

Beers and a joint were passed around the larger circle. Chatter passed through everyone’s lips, laughter bubbling up in places. They were in one big bubble. Even when the conversation did not include Harry, he still sat there feeling like he was included. Of course, he normally felt that because of their tight-knit community, but something felt different. Maybe it was the drops of alcohol he had consumed and the woolly feeling in his legs from _that_ situation in the van, but either way, it felt _nice._

“No, no way,” Harry disagreed. His eyes had flickered to the left to see the burning joint in Lou’s fingers and close to being passed to Louis. He had immediately stopped his conversation with Zayn to reprimand the two Lou’s.

Louis’s eyes widened as he turned to Harry, ready to persuade him otherwise.

“You’re _ill,_ Louis; you can’t be smoking weed when you look like death.” Harry was persistent. Lou looked on with fond eyes, but Harry did not notice.

“But-”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry warned, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“Just-”

“H is right, Lou; it sucks when you’re pukin’ because you’re ill _and_ drunk _and_ high. Believe me, ‘ve’ been there, done that, got the fuckin’ vomit stained t-shirt,” Zayn interrupted, taking a swig of his beer and leaning back on Liam’s shoulder.

“S’true. S’not nice for the other half either. It was proper disgustin’ and I had no clue what to do with him,” Liam added.

“So he threw me in the sea to try and clean me and sober me up at the same time. Probably wasn’t the best idea because I got a cold that lasted for, like, forever. But, y’know, life experiences and wisdom n’all that shit. So, yeah, you should listen to your ol’ man there.”

“Oi!” cried Harry in offence.

Louis cackled, albeit croakily, at the statement. Harry glared and pouted in both directions of the insulting boys. Louis unwound himself from Lou’s hold and shuffled his way to Harry, knees dragging in the sand.

He chuckled as he spoke, taking extra pauses to giggle. “Aw, it’s okay, Hitch. I don’t think of you as my old man, regardless of your creaky bones, or your bad back, or your inflexibility...” He then set himself off into a splutter of laughter and coughs at the catcalls that were spurred on by the last comment.

“You’re an actual knob,” Harry stated. Louis flopped himself down in the middle of Harry’s legs, curling in on Harry’s chest, the bobble of his (Harry’s) hat tickling the underside of Harry’s neck.

The conversation continued around them, sweeping Louis away in its flow, and the joint passed over louisandharry to take residence between Zayn’s lips. Harry, though, did not join in with the various animated conversations dotted around the place. It seemed to be that the demons of his mind were at work that night. They took the chance to seize on any opportunity to make Harry think about _feelings_ , and Harry was not really fond of that.

As Harry looked back, he wondered whether he did act like Louis’ old man. He did not think that he was too much of a sensible person, to the point where he was boring. But what if Louis thought he was? What if he came across as dull? He was so engrossed in surfing and the sea and all of that malarkey, that he did not think about how other people would view that. Old men tended to have an obsession, usually golf or something mundane like that, so what if that was how he came across with his passion for all things surfing?

Just as those annoying little thoughts were about to dig a little deeper, Louis turned his head and looked up at Harry.

“Hey, babe, you gettin’ lost in your head?” Louis said quietly, rasp still evident behind his almost-whisper. He tapped the side of Harry’s head jokily, always trying to bring the mood up.

Without even realising, Harry said, “do I really come across as an old man?”

Louis’ face crumbled from its cheeky structure to its caring one, all soft skin and gentle bones. “ _Hitch,_ ” he said, dragging the sounds out a bit in a concerned manner.

“I  just- I mean, I know I don’t really do anything other than surfing and stuff, so, like, I might come across as boring-”

“I call bullshit,” Louis sing-songed with a smile on his lips. “It was just a joke, don’t take it seriously,” he said, running his fingers through Harry’s matted curls.

“I know, but-”

“But nothing,” Louis stated. “I can call you my young man, if you like? But then that sounds a little seedy, y’know?”

Harry snorted, “and, what, having an old man isn’t _just_ as seedy?”

“Nah, as soon as they take one look at you they’ll realise all I’d get out of it at the end would be a dog and a van, so I doubt anyone would mind.”

“Hey! I have lots of valuable things, I’ll have you know!” Harry said, affronted. Louis sniggered as he turned around, kneeling up.

“Sure you do, I can think of one thing in particular...” Louis murmured, face coming close to Harry’s.

“Yeah?” whispered Harry.

“Mhm, think it’ll be very valuable.”

“And what exactly does this valuable look like?”

“It’s sleek, it’s sexy, and the bank is already processing it as we speak.” His lips brushed against Harry’s lightly. Harry’s lips pouted upon instinct, reaching out.

Harry hummed, “and which bank is this?” he enquired.

Very seriously, with sober eyes and a dead expression, Louis said, “The Wank Bank.”

He laughed heartily straight after he spoke, unable to keep in his laughter. Harry clipped him across the head but could not resist laughing with him. He could have been embarrassed when he realised what Louis was talking about, and he could have pushed him and called him a dick for joking around, but instead, he laughed. He laughed and he laughed because Louis was laughing and Louis was funny and Louis was _Louis._

Later that night, Harry would be lying in bed alone when the high of the evening would wear thin. He would not realise it, but as he turned over and pulled the covers up his torso, a thought would pop into his head. He would, at first, be confused by its return. He would roll it around on his tongue for a little while, trying to work out its flavours. Then, he would figure it out, and those demons would come trotting out again, marching in a line and ready to take action. They would pick away at his brain and make him _thinkthinkthink._ He would curl in on himself and try and create arguments against the demons’ chants. A pain would shoot through his chest and his head would go fuzzy. He would be trapped in a solitary cell with no escape, only his thoughts for company and nothing or nobody to help him fight them. He would try his best not to let them change anything, but only the morning would be able to answer whether they would or not.

 _“...You should listen to_ your _ol’ man there....”_

 _“...I don’t think of you as_ my _old man...”_

 _“...I can call you_ my _young man...”_

Your.

My.

My.

_His._

_Louis’._

-|-

 A week had passed, inner turmoil still very present in Harry’s gut. Randomly, words would shoot to the forefront of his mind. They would be words of possession and meaning. They would be heavy and dank and linger for a frustratingly long time. Harry would try and wash them away with a good dose of salt water, but as soon as they left, they would come crawling back. In the end, Harry had taken to intentionally ignoring them. It seemed to work just fine and the reappearance of said words was mainly in the dead of night or the middle of the sea, both times which Harry could lose himself and have only the sky or the sea to judge him, and neither would.

But, then again, another week had passed of Harry feeling generally content, regardless of that daunting black cloud. He had worked every day and his commission had gone up by at least a hundred quid, meaning everything felt a whole lot more comfortable. It felt especially comfortable when he spent the evening pigging out on Louis’ sofa, finishing off the expensive bottle of wine he bought from Fit Aiden’s stall and exchanging lazy kisses, but that was not the point. Really, it was totally off the point. The point was, was that even though there were a lot of issues left untouched to do with a certain blue eyed boy, Harry was adamant that he could feel such contentedness away from said boy. He had a life away from him.

Okay, so maybe it did not seem that way when he was spending his night having dinner with Zayn and Liam _and_ Louis, but, hey, he was part of the group, so. I mean, it’s not like they intentionally did not _ask_ Niall, or even Lou or Tom, they just knew that they were busy. (The thought of inviting them did not even enter Harry’s mind.)

The four of them were at _Rusty’s,_ an Italian restaurant that served massive portions of average food for a fair price. They were settled in a booth, Zayn and Liam opposite Louis and Harry. The couple opposite him were already in their ZaynAndLiam mode, holding hands on the table top and nuzzling the other’s neck. Harry would have been sickened, but then Louis distracted him by tracing patterns absentmindedly on his thigh.

Zayn teased Louis incessantly until he agreed to order the drinks from the tall, blonde, leggy bartender. The jokes, of course, had consisted of that night in the club where he seemed to snag endless amounts of drinks because of his pretty eyelashes and incredible figure (read: arse).

“This is going to fail miserably, y’know, and then he’ll end up spitting in my drink. Which, by the way, will suddenly become yours if it does happen because I refuse to swallow that.” Louis said as he shuffled out of the seat.

Zayn snorted. “Mate, you spit-swap with Harry, like, every five minutes, don’t try n’act all innocent when you suck his cock in the middle of the beach.”

“Oi!” Louis said in offence. A blush barely lit up his cheeks, it was as if he was not ashamed, and had passed the point of embarrassment. “That’s different! It’s-”

“-Harry, right.” Zayn finished, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, and I’m quite content with Harry’s spit, thank you very much,” Louis said.

“Sure you are. I’m sure you’ll miss it so much when-”

“-I go and flirt my arse off for free drinks, yeah?” Louis’ sharp voice cut into Zayn’s speech like a whip slapping off, well, somewhere that would be incredibly painful, if Zayn’s widened eyes were anything to go by.

“Yeah,” Zayn said, blinking a rapidly in surprise, “yeah, that.”

Harry was utterly confused by the situation. He had lost track of what the actual point of the conversation was a while back, tuning out when they mentioned his and Louis’ escapades. “Uhm, as lovely as this conversation about my spit is, I’m kinda thirsty so...” Harry said, looking confusedly between each of the boys surrounding the table.

Louis turned to Harry after a few seconds, face suddenly bright and eyes gleaming, “yes, of course you are, you haven’t had a drink since-,”

“ _Louis,”_ Harry said. And that was all it took for the boy to sashay away, a pseudo confidence surrounding him and reverberating around the room with every flick of his hips. Liam started rambling on about some annoying shop assistant that refused to believe that he was over eighteen when he was trying to buy a bottle of white for his and Zayn’s date night, but Harry’s attention was elsewhere.

Instead, he was watching the curve of Louis’ back as he leaned over the bar. He watched the portrait of his face as he turned his head to flutter his eyelashes in the way which had Harry on his knees practically immediately.  He was watching the way that Louis’ lips moved slowly, drawing out his words and most probably using that incredibly sexy tone. Harry seemed to know all of his tricks, something which became apparent when he guessed that Louis would straightened up all of a sudden and expose his bulging biceps. Just as expected, Louis did just that.

Suddenly, Louis was turning around, four drinks expertly balanced in his hands, a pleased smile lighting up his face. He glanced up and caught Harry’s eye, winking at him and spreading his lips apart to smile cheekily. Harry did not hold his smile back, even if it did come across as if he was proud of Louis for achieving some life goal or something. He shimmied out of the sea and scuttled up to Louis.

Carefully prizing two glasses from Louis, he looked behind at the bartender. He was watching intently, not even bothering to pretend he was listening to the other bartender babbling on next to him. “He’s still watching you,” Harry murmured.

“He’s an actual creep, like, I’m not even kidding. He invited me ‘round the back for a quickie to repay him for the free drinks,” said Louis, shrugging.

“What’d you say?” Harry asked. Did he want to hear the answer if Louis said yes?

“Said he’d see my answer very soon.” And then Louis’ lips latched onto Harry’s and they were off in a rough kiss, not even thinking about how the drinks could spill, because, well, Louis’ tongue was in Harry’s mouth and that was just a little more important.

Louis pulled away with a pop, standing flat on the soles of his feet. Harry watched as he swivelled around and smiled overly wide at the scowling bartender, before practically skipping back to the table. And, yeah, Harry was kind of in awe of him.

The evening continued just fine until, well, until it kind of wasn’t fine. They were waiting for the food to be delivered and the conversation seemed normal. Louis’ head was leaning on Harry’s shoulder, just, y’know, casually, and everything felt light and just _nice._

But then the conversation of Zayn and Liam’s first date started deteriorating and the topic of relationships was still supporting it. It left the bare structure of ‘couples’ and ‘dates’ and ‘together’, none of which settled well in Harry’s stomach anyway, let alone all grouped together.

“We should do this again, y’know, like, double date and stuff, it’s fun,” Liam said, shrugging happily.

And that was Harry’s downfall.

Double date. _Double_ date. Double _date._ A _date,_ as in, a romantic event for two people to take part in, in the hope of a relationship developing. A _double_ date, where two couples that are romantically invested in their partner go out together and be all _coupley._

Harry did not think he fitted in either of those. It was not a date. It was a _gathering_ of _friends._ It was not a _double date_ because there was only one couple there, and that couple most definitely did not include him.

Apparently not.

“I need a tab,” Harry muttered, shuffling out of the seat and practically sprinting out of the building.

His fingers fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes, shaking as he brought out a thin cylinder of the calming toxicant. His mind was going crazy. It felt like his skull was rattling, all of his bones trembling underneath his skin in reaction to the words. He was overreacting, he knew that, but this felt like a massive storm ripping apart in his small, slow life. It was destroying the peace, the security he felt. It was changing things. It was replacing safety with vulnerable quivers. It was making his world quake, as dramatic as that sounded, the doubt that it had injected into his mind was a repellent to anything he thought he knew.

Because if this was supposed to be the start of something, then it would inevitably end.

As soon as he took a long, steady drag, he told himself to ‘calm the fuck down.’ He immediately relaxed as the nicotine sedated some of the demons raiding his mind, but others were still raging fiercely.

What was he to do? Was he supposed to act like everything was okay? Act like he was completely fine with the dinner had suddenly turned into a dreaded date? That a date was not something kind of massive to commit to?  That he was fine with dating when he did not _do_ dates since he was, like, fifteen? How was he supposed to feel? Was there not some kind of handbook that had a section that explained the points of dating?

“You alright, mate?” Zayn said, lighting up his own tab. Harry had not even noticed his arrival. No, was Harry’s truthful answer, because he felt like he had just been thrown in the deep end with not even his board to grab onto.

“Yeah, just a bit hot in there,” Harry murmured.

Zayn just nodded and smoked, not saying anything, knowing not to. Harry’s cigarette was edging closer to the end. He had barely realised that he was smoking so fast, too wrapped up in his own head. He could feel Zayn’s gaze on him. He was trying to work him out. He could always work out what Harry’s problem was, it was just a thing that Zayn did. He worked out the problems and let Liam deal with them, it was kind of how they worked within the group. Niall was the one who made things better, and Harry, well, he was not too sure what he did. He was just there, kind of like a buffer. Harry did not want to think about Louis’ role in the group, because ostensibly everything he thought was wrong, anyway.

“You’ll be alright, y’know?” Zayn said as Harry stubbed out the end of his tab aggressively.

“Yeah?” said Harry. His voice was gravelly, the way that it got when he was frustrated with himself.

“Yeah, of course. What’s that quote you like- yeah, that’s it, ‘Everything will be okay in the end, if it’s not okay, it’s not the end.’ That’s it, right?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Can’t really get my head around that right now though, too much goin’ on up there.” He tapped his head and forced a weak smile.

“I know, mate, but we’re here to help you afterwards, you’re not gunna be alone,” Zayn said.

He wrapped his arm around Harry and pulled him in, giving him a side hug. Harry did not have the energy to try and work out what Zayn was on about, whether it was an intentional mistake or just a mix up. Hell, he had no clue what he could be on about anyway. Instead, he let Zayn lead him back inside. Harry’s chest constricted when he saw Louis, saw those hopeful Coffee Blue eyes looking at him inquisitively.

Then, Harry knew how he was supposed to act. He had to act like it was fine, because Louis was susceptible to any mood, and he did not want the both of them to be plagued by such uncertainties. He would act like it was normal, like he always did. He would pretend that those words never infected the air, and that if they _did,_ he would not care. He would cover all the bases, just in case the conversation arose again and slapped Harry even Harry on his already pinked cheek.

Because although Harry was not supposed to connect to anything other the sea or the beach, he was not going to ruin the little bonds he had made between the people around him simply because of his own principles. He would let the comments roll up, like the wave creeping up the sand, but he would not let them sink into his exterior to reach his core like the light grains would do.

Harry would dip his hand into Louis’ bag of acting skills and try them on for fit until he was waist high in numbing water. There, he would strip it all back, to his bare bones. The water would erode the layers of facades that took form in his skin until he was no longer a full body with feelings, just a skeleton. He could place each emotion on the crest of a wave and let it wash away and return with a new look, a new way for Harry to slot in between his ribs and feel a tad more comfortable.

But for now, Harry would twist the corners of his smile into a vaguely convincing smile and tighten the screws at the back of his tongue to prevent him from mucking up his display. Maybe he would tone it down a little bit, the thigh-tracing-tips and the neck-nuzzling, try to supply himself with a bit of evidence against the whole matter. Whatever Louis did (or ZaynAndLiam, for that matter), Harry would stick to his little act and not be sucked in by Louis’ endearment.

“Hitch, look!” exclaimed Louis in awe, holding up a tiny pot filled with red mush, “they serve _relish,_ relish! How posh is that! It’s, like, actual _relish._  I don’t think I’ve ever had _relish_ like this before. Isn’t it just a great word? Relish. _Relish._ Rel-ish. Re-l-”

Maybe it would be harder than he thought.

Stunted emotions and demolished food later, Louis was talking animatedly about how his youngest sister had just received her two hundred metre swimming badge. He was thoroughly proud of her, of that was evident, and he gushed over her achievements with such love and care that Harry felt a twinge of envy at the back of his throat.

“- I think I’ll be able to keep up with Harry next week, like, I mean, I know he’s _always_ out there, but I got my two thousand five hundred metre badge in year six, so, y’know.” Harry tuned back into the conversation after mentally itching away the ever-seeping negative thoughts to hear Louis feigning seriousness and self-importance. Zayn laughed loudly, throwing his head back and spreading his lips to show his pearly teeth.

Louis glanced up at Harry, whose eyebrows had risen in mock-judgement. “Two thousand five hundred, y’say?” he repeated.

“I’ll have you know that it is a highly acclaimed award,” Louis stated, waggling his finger in front of Harry’s face.

“I’m very sure that it is, but I don’t really know how much it’ll help you in the waves here, I mean, you’re...nimble?”

Louis expressed an affronted look, crying out a, “nimble?” in offence. “ _Petite,_ Hitch, I’m _petite._ ”

Harry gave him an over-exaggerated nod and eye-widen to make it seem like Louis had just expressed the wonders of the world. Louis smiled, pleased, and turned to back to Zayn and Liam, who were being very ZaynAndLiam-y whilst watching the pair in front of them interact in their own little way.

“So when’re you going to show off your amazing swimming skills, then?” Liam asked. Harry had to hold back to gag when Liam fed Zayn a chip, directing it to his mouth without even sparing a glance at him.

“Next week, Thursday,” Louis announced.

Similar to before, Harry looked at Louis, eyebrows raised in question, “next Thursday?”

“Yup,” Louis said with wide, closed-lipped smile. His cheeks bunched up and a pink flush was stealing at his skin just because.

“And I agreed to this when?”

“You didn’t. But I’ve decided it’s happening, so.”

“What if I’m busy?”

“You’re not, I checked.”

“You...checked?”

“Yeah, I checked through your diary. You’ve got the whole weekend free, as well, if you didn’t know.”

“I...don’t even know what to say,” Harry said, bemused.

“Don’t have to say anythin’, love, just gotta prepare yourself for seeing my fine arse in a wetsuit all day, that’s all,” Louis informed him. Harry valued his point, actually, but was still a little perplexed by the bombardment of plans, bombardment of Louis.

“Wait- is this for the whole day on Thursday?” Zayn interrupted. His preened eyebrows were furrowed as he leaned forward instinctively.

“Yeah, thought we could make a day of it,” said Louis. He had a fond smile lighting up his face as he glanced over to Harry, content with himself.

“But- I thought we could’ve had a session-”

(“- did you seriously just say session? Jesus, Zayn, you’re an actual chav.” Harry scoffed in disgust.)

“-that night? Like, campfire, booze, weed, all ‘a that?” Zayn finished, taking no notice of Harry.

The fond smile on his lips weakened to a barely-there twist of Louis’ lips. “Yeah, well, I just thought me and Hitch could have, like, a surfing day, or something, just the two of us.”

“Just the two of you? With nobody else?” Zayn repeated. His voice had an edge to it. Harry was mildly confused, yet also not prepared to try and figure out why.

“That’s kinda the plan,” admitted Louis, eyes wary.

“So you don’t want to spend time with us on that Thursday?” and, God, Harry thought that Zayn was sounding ever so touchy. His eyes were narrowed, even if it was just a fraction, the fire in his eyes made it look a lot fiercer.

“It’s not that I don’t want to-”

“-he just wants to spend time with H, that’s all,” Liam finished. Louis shot him a grateful look and received a knowing one in return from those warm brown eyes that Harry had often sought solace in. Those comforting eyes then flicked over to Zayn and morphed into a less appreciative look, sterner and firmer.

“But-”

“I don’t see the problem, like, we’ll both be at the campfire the day after to do exactly the same thing as you want, so...” spoke Harry after his bout of silence. His features were scrunched up in puzzlement, creases dipping around his nose, cheek bunched up, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Zayn’s mouth opened to speak, but, instead, a cry of pain was released. He scowled at Liam who had, evidently, kicked Zayn in the shin. Liam was glaring at his boyfriend, but they still seemed to be conversing silently through the annoyance. Zayn’s eyes flickered over to Louis, who stared back with something that Harry could not, for the life of him, work out. The three pairs of eyes glanced between themselves, moving from set to set and somehow transferring information to each other. All Harry could see was that Louis’ eyes crinkled at the edges at times, but then smoothed out flat when his lips folded together in a purse.

It was all unnerving in practically every way possible.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. If there was not a distraction sooner or later, those awful demons would be traipsing back through the canals of his mind again and pulling him into the solid ground again. The first to register his presence was Louis ( _as always,_ something whispered), whose previously forlorn face whipped itself back into shape with one of those charming smiles, pointy teeth piercing his bottom lip. Zayn and Liam turned to stare at each other, but Harry’s attention was otherwise stolen.

“What was-”

“We should probably go, yeah?” Louis interrupted. He dragged a hand through his hair, pushing his feathery fringe from his forehead as if he were stressed. Why he would be stressed, Harry did not know, because apparently the problem Harry had was not one that Louis had in any way, shape, or form.

“Uh, if you want?” Harry said, or asked, more like.

“I want, yes,” Louis responded. His hands pushed Harry’s body impatiently, trying to force him out of the booth. Harry was just a little stunned.

“Uhm, okay,” Harry said slowly. He obeyed Louis’s incessant gestures in the form of hitting Harry’s body, and slipped out of the booth, the smaller boy following in suit.

“You don’t have to go,” Liam said softly to Louis.

“I know,” Louis replied with a kind smile towards both of the couple.

“You could both come back to ours for dessert or something. I mean, I think we still have some of that cheesecake left from Zayn’s mum...” offered the fair haired boy.

“Nah, it’s alright,” Louis answered before Harry could get a word in edgeways. “I wanna suck ‘im off in the car and get back in time for the Great British Bake Off. See ya!”

With that, they were gone, everyone stunned except Louis. But, then again, whenever Louis was around, it tended to be that way. Just as they were leaving, Harry heard Zayn’s cackling laugh breaking the atmosphere and Liam’s low chuckle accompanying it, proving that whatever had happened had been resolved with Louis’s quick wit and bare honesty. Said qualities also put a barrier around those annoying little demons, making sure that they would not return until Louis’s mouth had been off Harry’s cock for a long time after.

And if anyone noticed Harry throwing enough cash to cover Louis’s bill just as a date would, nobody let on.

-|-

That Thursday arrived sooner than Harry was to expect. It was not long until he was sizing up Louis with different lengthened wetsuits. Louis had insisted that he could deal with the tog that Harry had, but Harry reminded him that half of their bodies would be submerged in some of the coldest water they would experience, and Louis’s (soft, delicate, smooth) skin would not be able to cope with such violation.

“I’m not _that_ small!” Louis cried as Harry pulled out kid’s wetsuit. To be fair, it was the biggest he had, and it was only to check the size, so Louis’s cries were not entirely relevant.

“I just wanna see the chest width, that’s all.”

“I’m not a _child,_ Hitch! I have muscle, y’know!”

“I know _that,”_ smirked Harry, “but just humour me, alright?”

“Fine,” Louis sighed. He straightened up and let Harry measure up the wetsuit to his body. The arms were way too small even without being stretched because of Louis’s biceps, and even the legs were, causing Louis to smile, pleased, at himself.

“I think I know which one’ll fit,” Harry affirmed. He slid the wetsuit back onto the rack and rummaged through another rail. The smell of rubber was overwhelming. Harry was used to it and had become accustomed to the strong scent, but Louis kept sniffing with a scrunched up nose and distaste threaded through his features. His hands, though, could not resist running over the soft material. Rows upon rows of tightly packed wetsuits were all that he could see, arms shouldering their way into his sight.  Louis could see how Harry could become so immersed in a place like this, in a town like so.

“Hopefully it won’t be too baggy under the arms. I think I might have a smaller one in the back somewhere, but I think the legs will fit best with this one,” said Harry. He chucked the thick wetsuit to Louis, who caught with in a tangle.

“Where d’you want me to change?” Louis asked as he toed off his shoes.

“Nobody’s gunna come in here, but you can get changed in the back if you’d prefer that,” Harry suggested. He, however, had chosen the former, evidently, as he was peeling off his clothes in replacement for his usual black suit. Louis just shrugged and copied Harry. He had done a sinful amount of things without any clothes in the open beach, so he was pretty sure his humiliation scale was of the higher rather than the lower, pitiful amount that someone like, say, Liam’s would be.

Harry, who was obviously used to heaving on such a tight piece of clothing, was stripped and halfway in his wetsuit before Louis had even figured out which way it went. Of course, Louis was not that stupid, and that was merely just an act to be able to sneak private looks at the lean bodied boy in front of him with a lovely lack of clothing. His muscles flexed under his skin, his back rippling. Louis wanted to press his fingertips in the valleys and canyons of his body. What was a surprise, a pleasant one at that, was Harry stripping down to being purely naked. And, well, that, of course, was a feast for Louis’s eyes. Seeing him bend over, bare arsed and endless amounts of pale skin, made him instinctively lick his lips. Unfortunately, though, Harry had turned around and so the opposite side to the round cheeks was not on show. But, hey, Louis was not going to complain. He had seen it many times anyway, seeing it flaccid and trying to be squished into a skin tight suit would probably be more of a turn-off than a turn-on, what with the apparent discomfort it would bring.

Once Harry had pulled on the suit, and not yet done it up, he turned to Louis, who was standing awkwardly.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Louis confessed, staring at the pile of material lying limp on the floor. Instead of laughing at him, Harry just smiled knowingly and shuffled his way (without any sound of chafing, Louis noticed, and upon glancing down at his thighs, realised that it would sadly not be a similar experience for him) over to a close-to-nude Louis.

“Here, sit down on the box over there,” Harry said, gesturing towards a rickety box that looked too small to support Louis’s weight. He then disappeared into the back and came back bearing two scrunched up plastic bags. He knelt down in front of Louis, who was sitting precariously on the seat, highly uncomfortable with the fact that he was naked, for once.

“Feet,” ordered Harry as he tapped the soles of Louis’s feet. Louis lifted both of his feet up, expecting Harry to pick up the wetsuit and slip it over his feet. That, however, was not the case, as the filthy plastic bags were then covering his feet.

“What are you-”

“They’ll help you get your feet in the legs,” Harry interrupted.

“I don’t see how-”

“ _Louis,_ ” warned the surfer. Louis huffed.

Unsurprisingly, Harry trick worked perfectly, as when Harry inched the tight ankle over his foot, it slipped through easily. Louis was pretty sure that Harry enjoyed treating Louis like a child, standing him up and making him jump up and down as he held the waist. And, yeah, maybe it did make Louis giggle, but still, it was a little demoralising, he would claim. (It wasn’t.)

It took a while to stretch the wetsuit over Louis and get him all secure, but eventually he was all strapped up in the skin tight, black material. His complaints were only mild, the usual, about not being able to breathe and sweating like a pig. Harry pretended to sympathise with him, but it was obvious that he could not do so. Louis’s pouting lips were cute, though, so Harry did not just ignore him entirely. He pressed his lips to them, just because.

“You’re probably going to feel like you’re being strangled when I do this up, alright?” Harry warned as he fiddled with the zip.

“Oh, great,” replied Louis sarcastically. His fingertips dipped into the rubber collar and pulled it away from his skin, letting it breathe. That, however, did not help much when Harry zipped it up and stuck the Velcro down with a crackle, strangling him, practically. He choked dramatically. “I can’t breathe,” he croaked, tugging at the rubber desperately to let tiny bubbles of air in.

“You get used to it; don’t worry,” Harry said nonchalantly. His eyes were roaming over some stacked surfboard, not taking much notice of Louis’s struggles. He slid out a conspicuous yellow and blue board and propped it up next to his own. Just as Louis was about to speak, the frown evident in his tone, Harry interrupted. “I know it doesn’t look like a proper one. But these are the training ones we use, so you’ve gotta use it, too. You’d never be able to handle one like mine, Lou. Maybe when you’ve had a few lessons, yeah?” Harry suggested. He was standing in front of Louis, somehow having moved without Louis’s realising. It was most probably because he was trying to work out how Harry knew what he was going to say so he was oblivious to the shuffling of bare feet against the scruffy floor. Before he knew it, two calloused thumbs were smoothing out the creases between his eyes and long fingers cradled his head. As hard as the pads tried, they could not diminish the rumples of wrinkles that were left in Harry’s final comment’s wake.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Louis softly. He smiled, weak.

Harry seemed pleased enough with the reply and started gathering up the belongings they needed. He sent Louis off to grab some water bottles from the back while he waxed his board. Louis had a good old giggle at the ‘Sex Wax’, spewing out innuendos ten to the dozen.

As he turned around and walked (waddled like he had just been fucked dry) into the back, Harry let out a low whistle. Confused, Louis continued on. It was not until he bent down to pick up said bottles that he realised the reason for Harry’s reaction. Louis smirked. Just as he was about to turn around, fingers spread over his arse, covering the expanse of material that left nothing to the imagination. Fingertips dug into the side of his hips and thumbs pressed down on the seam stitched tightly down the middle.

“See something you like?” Louis asked when he straightened up. His back was flush against Harry’s chest, his arse pressed against Harry’s crotch, possibly innocently, possibly not, mainly just in intrigue.

“Something I like? Fuck, Lou, it looks _incredible,_ ” Harry rasped in Louis’s ear. A shudder swam around each knob of Louis’ spine.

“Yeah?”

“I’d bend you over this second and fuck you if I could, it’s _that_ good,” confirmed Harry. His fingers pressed into the flesh hungrily, squeezing enough to make Louis catch a whimper at the back of his throat and Harry rumble a groan in his ear.

“I think I’d like that,” Louis started. Harry pressed his crotch harder against Louis’s arse in response. “But I really wanna go surfing before I suffocate myself to death.”

Harry let out a breathless groan, which was also mixed with a chuckle, and dropped his forehead onto Louis’s shoulder. “You’re actually insufferable.”

“I know,” he said simply. Louis popped his hips back so that Harry was pushed away tottered out of the room as best he could with the wetsuit on.

They wandered down to the beach, bare soles of feet being scratched against the stone floor and tiny squeal as Louis’s feet nearly came in contact with a forgotten piece of dog shit littering the floor. The sand was a sorry relief. It sunk around their feet and engulfed them in soothing heat. Louis thought that it felt weird, what with the lack of feeling from his ankles upwards. He plonked down on the ground, next to Harry who was busy doing something or other. Louis’s fingers scrunched up in the sand, gathering grains in their creases before letting them trickle out again in a golden waterfall. He glanced out at the waves, the thrashing looking extremely daunting.

Harry stood up and pulled Louis up with him. He started leading Louis further down the beach, both of them hauling the large boards under their arms. It was awkward, having to walk in such a tight costume with an obtrusive plank of whatever under their arms. Louis could feel the chafing of the material between his thighs and the friction around his crotch with each step. He looked over at Harry to see him walking perfectly fine, looking much too model-like to be seen with Louis.

“It’s funny, because you’d think I’d be most worried about my airways being suffocated, but I’m actually more concerned for my cock because I think it might become disfigured after this,” said Louis seriously.

Harry cackled loudly, the type that made him slap a hand over his mouth to bury the noise.

“I’m being serious! What if it gets deformed? What will you do then?” Louis probed, apparently seriously concerned.

“I’ve been surfing since my balls dropped; do you really think I’d let you risk hurting that pretty cock of yours if that happened to me?”

“Well, no, but maybe you know no different because it’s gradually disfigured and now you’re left with a wonky dick without even knowing,” Louis counteracted, cleverly, he thought.

“I’m pretty sure my dick is perfectly fine, and I don’t think that’s possible at all. Anyway, you’ve seen it; are you saying there’s something wrong with it? Are you _complaining?_ ” Harry taunted.

“Hey! I never said that! I’m very happy with your dick, thank you very much,” Louis said surely. Harry giggled to himself, shaking his head in amusement. His curls draped over his face, twirling around themselves like the crashing waves of a waterfall. Louis wanted to pluck a random shell, possibly a conch, and thread a ribbon through it so he could tie it around Harry’s head. He would look oh so pretty.

When they were fairly close to the sea, Harry went through the usual safety measures and tips with Louis on dry land. He taught him about the lifeguarding process and the dangers, all that malarkey which Louis only vaguely listened to because he was too busy staring at Harry’s red lips. Louis was pretty sure that Harry knew that Louis was not interested in the words, more so the movement of his mouth, and was moving his lips in a teasing way.

He then moved on to teaching Louis the basics. He taught Louis how to paddle, ignoring the whines from Louis when he got hundreds of grains of sand under his fingertips with each scoop of the sand. He helped him work out which was his stronger leg using the useful sand-football technique. Louis had looked at him strange when he suggested it, but Harry had reminded him that he was his teacher, and he was to do as he said. Louis, of course, had something to say back to that, something that was far from innocent and crudely similar to a porno.

Then, Harry taught Louis to balance on the board. The rest of the teaching seemed to go fine, but, of course, Louis did not want to pass up on any possibility of Harry and he touching, so he feigned uncertainty and an abominable amount of balance. With a bruised huff and a badly hidden lopsided smile, Harry slotted in behind Louis. His body was hot, the material intensifying marginally. Hardly discreetly, Louis pushed back against the lanky body behind him as he set his stance flush against Harry’s. It went on like that for a while. Harry found it hard to pull himself away from the curvy body in skin tight clothing, but eventually he pried his mind away from other places and back to the swash of the sea.

The first few goes, with Harry’s aid, did not exactly put Louis in high spirits. It took him a while to even catch a wave while lying down, let alone try standing up. His complaints about the freezing water did not help his concentration levels, which drifted away whenever Harry rose up from diving under a wave, hair flat against his head, tendrils of flaccid curls cascading over the mossy green eyes.

Somehow, though, Harry seemed to be able to take the bout of disappointment with every miss and dissolve it with his raspberry cupid’s bow and the apple of his pleasure-stolen-pink cheeks. Chatter slipped through Louis’s aching jaw (from smiling and coldness, not _that_ ) and was returned with enthusiastic responses. Harry looked in his element. Louis had seen him surf before, seen it on the outside and gotten a glimpse of the awe-worthy love that Harry had for the body of water. But he had not seen it up close, not been in Harry’s little bubble of adoration.

He seemed to light up, if it was even possible for a star like Harry to shine brighter. His eyes had a certain gleam to them. He was so at ease, comfortable and at home even when a wave was close to knocking his spindly legs over. He did not mind when his whole head was dunked under the water, he just sunk upwards slowly and emerged with a pleased smile. The salt was not bitter to him, did not attack him, it lived with him. The sea seemed to be his family, the feelings reciprocated each way, the feelings of love. Louis would have wanted to sneak in there and take a smidgen of it for himself, but the fear of wrecking it was too great a risk.

After a while of trying, Louis finally caught a wave. He was not standing up for long, and he did topple off and cause his own wave of pain, but it was enough. He had stood up, grinning widely and entirely pleased with himself. Harry had nearly bowled him over as he swept him up, expression proud. The surfer spun him around like it was a movie moment, cheering happily along with the applauding froth upon the broken waves.

“I did it!” Louis cheered excitedly as Harry plopped him back down on his feet.

Harry’s hand slicked back Louis’s sodden hair from flopping onto his forehead. His fingers trickled down so that his thumb could press into the bone of his cheek. His smile was soft, caring. “You did so well, honestly, that was so good, Lou.”

Louis’s top teeth scraped over his bottom lip as he smiled up at Harry. “Thanks.” Spontaneously, he lifted up onto his tiptoes and smacked his lips on Harry’s. He eased the thicker pinks apart and let them move languidly together. Harry tasted of salt and sea and smoke. Louis decided that he would never get sick of that usual flavour. His hand snuck around Harry’s waist to bring him closer. It felt like their little clear bubble had shrunk to just them. The sea lapped around the middle of their thighs, but the warmth of their lips staved off them numbing of their skin.

When they pulled away with slightly kiss-swollen lips and the crackle of the parting, Harry’s nose brushed against Louis’s ever so lightly. Both of their eyes were still closed. Everything was peaceful, and it continued like that for a little while longer.

Eventually, though, Louis had to rip himself away from the lovely moment as his feet were becoming worryingly numb from standing still in the cold water for so long. They surfed until darkness started to dissolve the sky. Specks of blue dissipated into blackened violet. Fiery orange munched through the horizon and faded into blossoming pink. Peace represented in the stars that were close to puncturing the sky.

By the end, Louis was utterly exhausted. Harry seemed to have amazing stamina when it came to exercise, and Louis was left lagging. To be fair, it was only his first go, and him being fantastic at it and acing it was unlikely. Harry had decided to call it a day when Louis was stumbling around, eyes barely open and coordination all over the place. He had even carried Louis’s board up to the surf shop for him. A true gentleman, Louis had murmured.

After cleaning up and changing into comfy clothes, they quickly scuttled into the warmth of Harry’s van. Caspar was there, ready to greet them, all sleepy eyed and lazily wagging his tail.

“D’you want something to eat? Think I’ve got some pasta left from last night,” Harry asked. As he switched the heater on, Louis plonked himself down on Harry’s bed and let Caspar crawl onto his lap. He had taken a shining to Louis; it was sweet.

“Anything warm’ll do me, I’m fuckin’ freezin’,” said Louis, rubbing his hands together to exaggerate his coldness.

“Get under the covers, then. I’ll make us some tea while the pasta warms up,” Harry said, already fiddling away at the kitchenette. Louis did just as Harry said and pulled the covers over him and Caspar. The dog snuggled into his chest, damp nose breathing air onto his thin t-shirt. The radio had been switched on at some point and was blurting out songs quietly into the air. It covered up some of the thrashing waves, reminders of how exhausted Louis’s limbs were.

“You look good in the kitchen,” Louis mused.

Harry turned around, one hand holding a large spoon and the other holding a pink pot full to the brim with a tomato covered pasta. His hair was pushed back off his face and the apron was hanging limp down his body. With pinked cheeks and wide yet bleary eyes, Harry looked a picture.

He made an affronted noise. A bump rose in between his eyebrows as he frowned, and his mouth dropped into a circle.

“It was a compliment!” Louis insisted.

“Compliment my arse,” Harry muttered when turned around back to the counter, sulking.

“Well, if I must,” Louis started, “it’s peachy, I’d say, round and firm. It isn’t as big as mine, but there’s enough to get my hands around and my teeth into-”

“Stop being such smart arse.” Harry shook his head in dismay, and Louis could practically see his eyes rolling even though he was turned away.

“You love it,” Louis teased.

“Sure,” Harry chuckled. Louis took that as a truthful agreement. Maybe Harry meant it as one, but nobody would ever know.

It was all very quiet and calm as they filled their bodies with warm food and drink. The tingling in Louis’s toes started to return as the numbness dissipated. The socks that Harry had slid onto his feet helped, even though Louis refused to admit it. They were curled up beside each other, Louis’s head on Harry’s chest, Caspar slinking away to sit in the front seat. Harry’s heartbeat thumped under Louis’s head, slow and steady. Their chatter died down, conversation melting away on Harry’s lips. Louis was soft and pliant against his body, moulding to his shape.

Interrupting the tranquillity was a small voice. It was soft and smooth. It was Louis, murmuring into Harry’s chest as if he was not sure whether he had the right to say what he was saying. “Can I stay here tonight?”

Harry glanced down at the head of cinnamon hair. Instinctively, his fingers rubbed small circles on Louis’s scalp, under the silky strands that were matted with salt. He was not sure if he had heard right, or if he had interpreted it the wrong way. He did not understand what was being asked of him, or to him, more like.

Before he could respond, Louis spoke again. This time, his voice was raspy. Before, it had sounded more rounded and prepared, as if the question had been conjured up in his mind and ready for delivery for a while. This time, though, it was rougher around the edges, as if it were an impromptu comment that could either lead to a warm chest or the cold flush of regret.

“I just- I want to spend tonight with you, if that’s okay.”

Once again, Harry did not understand. Why was Louis acting so small? Why had his character shrunken to a vulnerable, miniature version of his usually brash-self?

“Uhm-” Harry was still confused, and the first thing to come out of his mouth was an utterance of uncertainty as what to say.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” said the diminutive voice. “I’d just quite like to be with you for the night.”

Louis swallowed so thickly that Harry could hear the gulp more so than feel it against his chest.

“No, no,” Harry backtracked, his mind finally catching up with itself. “I’d like that too, yeah.”

Louis sighed. Was it in relief? Why would it be in relief? Harry did not know. But Louis seemed content and that was enough.

Nothing had to be said after that.

Well, maybe something was speaking, something was whispering incessantly in Harry’s ear. But whether he listened to it or not was a different matter.

The waves had watched him. Their caring eyes had followed his every movement, his every interaction, with the Coffee Blue eyed boy. They had watched Harry’s fond eyes and felt the trill that ran down Harry’s back whenever the crinkles pinched the corners of Louis’s eyes. They had muttered amongst themselves, too low for Harry to decipher. He was too busy with Louis, anyway, but that was a frequent occurrence. Some lapped against Louis’s thighs affectionately. Some crashed into them to test his strength. Some just sat back and observed.

Now, though, while the quiet had dawned upon the pair of them, the sea had given its command to let the words trickle into Harry’s ears. They murmured compliments about the boy. They told him that Louis’s heart was close to the crest of the wave. It flew high and ambitious, but never strayed. They told him that Louis was something special. They told him that he could no longer hide from it. That it was real. When the sea gave itself to Harry, Harry gave itself to the sea. And so when that happened, the two were connected and the two would never part; but the two would also know everything about the other, and Harry could not run from that. The sea had figured it out, and it was doing its best to numb the unsure part of Harry’s heart with its frozen fingers. Reassuring licks of the sound of the waves caressed his mind to keep him from breaking too early and rock barriers were carefully placed to stop him from crashing.

What the sea was conveying to Harry was that there was other good in the world than just the sea.

It was trying to say that maybe perfect waves came in other forms, rather than curling water.

Maybe waves came in emotions, overwhelming and overpowering.

Maybe waves came in passion, overwhelming and overpowering.

Maybe waves came in Coffee Blue eyes, overwhelming and overpowering.

But what Harry was not to know was that, come the morning, the settled waves that merely rippled around his chest with every beat of his heart would become restless. They would jostle against themselves and eventually turn into a wave of such force that would leave Harry frantically searching for guidance from his family, the sea. If that guidance could be provided, was another matter, because the storm that was brewing over his sleeping head was thicker, heavier, denser. It was making the waves swirl against their usual pattern. It was prepared to knock him over, under the water until his lungs burned with such fight that the fire would turn from pleasure to aching pain. Whether he could sink up to the surface afterwards was yet to be predicted.

The crest of his wave was about to break, and Harry was surfing it entirely unaware.

-|-

The wind rattled the windows, tapping on them with its sharp claws. The gusts of the fierce breeze echoed in the corners of the van. Cold pricked up on Harry’s covered legs. The sea was loud and rambunctious; he could head its shouts but was still too slick with sleep to decipher them. It was as if the rolling water was fighting against itself, crashing loudly to make as much aggressive noise as possible. It contrasted with the calm pockets that were buried in Harry’s chest. They were lilac pouches filled with calming cinnamon scents and dabs of rose and bluebell petals. Their origin was that of the night previous. They had swirled up during his sleep to mist his head in a swathing of dizzy as he slowly inched his way out of dreamland.

For once, Harry ignored the sea.

His face was squashing into the pillow and his eyes were closed shut. A tiny spot on his temple chilled his skull. The cover was squished under one of his legs, the material all over the place. Sleep was trying to lure him back in, but the peacefulness in the van seemed a perfect transition into the real world. A warmth spread itself over his back. Harry’s lips curled at the edges, like wetness on a page making it whorl.

But as Harry turned around he did not see delicately closed eyes and slightly parted lips. He did not see scattered strands of hair or carefully folded limbs. He did not feel that, previously unwanted, leaking of tenderness trickle in between his ribs to pool around his heart.

That was replaced by a dozing, fluffy dog. And, well, that made Harry’s heart slump its hypothetical shoulders and pout disappointedly.

Caspar’s head rose at the sound of movement. His brown eyes looked tired and bleary. His lively self was pushed deep into them, unreachable at the present time. Harry patted his head with a floppy hand that put hardly any force or affection into the pat at all. His half-arsed attempt, though, was brushed off by the dog, who stood up and trotted off the bed to curl in on himself on the floor. Well.

Harry frowned. He seemed out of character, not himself at all. Harry had read once that dogs could sense moods and were susceptible to their owner’s feelings. His despondent mood was infectious, and Harry really did not want the tiny pockets of bliss to pop because of his pet’s mood. Honestly, that would be stupid.

But then Harry noticed something else, something else which would not be as absurd a reason for the deflation of his calmness.

Louis wasn’t there.

Usually, after a night of staying over, Louis would be there, always. Either he would be fast asleep beside Harry or he would be pottering around the van doing god knows what. It was not a thing, it was just- well, it was just what happened. It did not happen so frequently that it was a thing, but it was just what ended up happening when he did. Surprisingly, Harry was never all too shocked when he woke up to Louis’ gentle features, nor was he a little cautious when a bowl of soggy cereal was placed on his lap, evidently having soaked in the milk for a long time prior to his awakening.

So waking up after a night together and not having Louis there was disconcerting. Especially after the quiet words Louis had spoken, about wanting to spend time with Harry, it would be strange for him to just disappear and not even say goodbye to Harry. If he was so cautious beforehand, then why would he up and leave without mentioning something? Louis always mentioned something, whatever it was about, he could not stop himself. And he never liked to leave things unsaid. Surely this went against that?

God, Harry thought to himself, he was acting like an idiot. Louis could easily have slipped out of the van to get breakfast or go for a walk or anything, really. Just because he was not there that second did not mean that he was not there the second before Harry awoke, or was going to be there in a second.

And anyway, why did it matter?

It mattered because somehow the routine had been slipped underneath Harry’s nose without him even realising and the changeup gave him the realisation that maybe everything was settled already. And not having Louis there when he came to such a realisation made him doubt himself and mess up his brain even more. Harry did not like it when his brain was cluttered with unnecessary thoughts and feelings; he liked the clean, open space, the wide sea more so than the creek that was mottled with moss and swimming fish.

But that was not just it. It mattered because Harry should not have cared. It mattered because he did care. Harry cared and the person he ostensibly cared for was not there. And that was what Harry tried to avoid. No reasoning would diminish the disappointment that one felt when what they expected to happen did not happen exactly as they planned. Regardless of what it was, it was still a stomach twisting moment.

It just so happened to be that Louis was the problem this time. Louis was not there the morning after Harry had come to terms with everything, with this. Harry had wanted to wake up and see Louis beside him. He wanted to be able to gradually filter the words that were whispered to him the night before while staring at the flickering eyelids and soft breathing. He wanted it to feel real and for it to be something that he could not go back on. But with Louis not there, that could not happen. And Harry was left with trying to figure out what the hell was going on without any proof or evidence, just myths and cryptic words.

It was complicated, just what Harry had tried to avoid since he moved to the coast. It made no sense on paper, let alone in his head. Harry hated it. He hated the uncertainty and the quiet and the disappointment.

So he decided to do what he did best: ignore it.

If he ignored the pang in his chest then it would no longer be there. If he ignored it, then there would be no problem with the fact that Louis had snuck off. Even saying that, ‘snuck’ was probably an over exaggerate word. Harry decided that he was being dramatic and that he just needed to brush the whole thing under the proverbial carpet.

Harry rolled over on his bed, sighing at his own antics. He had just let his brain drift away from the situation and focus on the sound of the sea when something crunched beneath his cheek. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. Sitting up in his lying position so that he was resting on his arm, Harry looked down at the offending area. Totally unnoticed from before was a folded piece of paper. And, well, if a dog being Louis’ replacement was strange, this was even odder.

Harry’s eyes scanned over the small sheet, noting the chicken scratch writing of his nickname sitting clearly on the blank page. The paper was curled at the edges and a splodge of leaking ink spread from the tail end of the name.

His fingers reached out cautiously, almost scared to touch it, like it would burn his fingertips. It was flimsy in his fingers, like it held nothing inside of it, no meaning. Somewhere, deep inside of Harry, he knew that it was going to be the exact opposite to that, but he refused to acknowledge that. The air was thickening, fast. Confusion welled behind Harry’s eyes and uncertainty danced in his brain. Half of his mind was telling him to stop thinking the worst, but the other was telling him not to open it or else the worst would happen.

Recklessly, Harry opened the folded paper.

Harry stared at it. The sea had turned silent.

And then maybe Harry realised that things could no longer be ignored any more. Maybe the odd silence of the sea had to be understood. Maybe that was a sign that the sea did not know everything, not when it came to one particular topic. Maybe it meant that the sea could not predict the future.

Maybe it meant that Louis had left him.

Hitch,

                I don’t really know how to say this, because, like, you’re lying, fast asleep, right in front of me and I feel like an absolute prick for doing this to you while you’re totally unaware. You look so fucking pretty. I don’t even want to imagine your face after you read this. But I know that I have to at least tell you now, or else there’s no chance in hell you’ll forgive me. Here goes.

Remember that drama course that I didn’t get into? Well, they’ve got this fast-course thing that they’ve started, and they basically teach you everything in half the time. It’s weird, but apparently it works and the grades are alright in the end. It’s a halls thing where you live there and you don’t really get any breaks except the weekend, and even then you have loads of lectures. It’s up in Doncaster and it finishes sometime in December. It’s before my birthday, that’s all I remember.

They offered me a place, H. And I accepted it.

It starts in two days. (Or one, for you reading this now)

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You’re probably wondering when I found out? It was the night we went to that club with everyone and I gave you that, uh, dance? I got the call from my mum when we were just leaving, they left message on the answer phone while they were away.

I kept meaning to tell you, but then we would get interrupted or I’d just see how happy you looked and I couldn’t do that to you, y’know? You deserve happiness and I didn’t want to take away a second of that. And, yeah, maybe it was cowardly to not tell you, maybe I was scared of your reaction, but that’s my problem that I’ve got to deal with and regret for however long, not yours.

(You just smiled in your sleep, I’d say I hope you’re thinking about me, but I don’t think I can say that anymore.)

I hope you don’t hate me. I know that you’ll want to, I mean, I’ve just left without even a goodbye, which is a dicky thing to do, I know, but how could I say goodbye to you, Hitch? How could I bring myself to leave you when I feel how I do about you? How could I say goodbye to the best thing that’s happened to me here? How could I look you in the eye and tell you to be happy when all I want is to be the one who makes you feel happy?

I couldn’t. It’s as simple as that. I couldn’t. You can curse me as much as you want. You can call me selfish and tonnes of shit, because I know I deserve it. But looking at you now, while you look so innocent and vulnerable, it makes it worth it. You look so gorgeous, Hitch, it’s actually kind of unnerving. I just ran my hand through your hair and you almost purred. God, you’re so cute. Anyway, I’m getting off track. I doubt you appreciate me saying things like that…I’ll try not to. The point is, though, that at least I’ve been able to savour every last moment that I had with you while you actually like me, rather than despising me.

I don’t know if I’ll come back. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’ll do after it. Believe me, I considered staying and scrapping it all because this life I have here just feels so right. But I need this; this is what I’m meant to be doing. I’m sure you understand that, right?

God knows if you don’t understand, you’re probably raging with anger right now. I probably would be if I was you and you had just left out of nowhere. I hope you get it eventually, though.

I get it if you want to move on. Do whatever you need to do to be happy. I don’t want you to be upset because I’m leaving, or longing for me or whatever – I’m not saying that you will, just, like, in case. I know what you’re like with emotions and stuff after- well after why you moved here, and I don’t want you keeping it all in for whatever reason you think is valid. I don’t want to sound egotistical (I nearly just wrote testicle, ha) or selfish (I probably already do), but if you do feel upset because of this whole malarkey, then let the others help you, yeah? And I don’t mean Fit Aiden’s wine stall, I mean Liam and Zayn and Niall, or even Nick, if he has that amount of emotional integrity.

I’m gunna say something really stupid here and I know I shouldn’t be writing this but I can’t stop?

A part of me wants you to miss me. I know that’s really selfish (again), but the sadist part of me wants that? I think I just want to know that I made an impact. Because you made a massive impact on my life, Hitch, like, more than anyone. And that’s really fucking scary to admit. I think I just want that to be returned? Which makes me a bit of a knob, I know, but it’s how I feel. I bet you’re thinking that it’s stupid of me to be blatantly honest now, since I’m just throwing this on you without any warning and I’ve been practically lying to you. (I don’t like to think of it that way. I hope you don’t either, I was only doing it to make things last longer, make it better for the both of us. I just wanted to protect you.)

But most of all, I just want you to be happy. I want you to be happy with who you are and with who’s around you and with how your life is. That’s all I ask of you, and I hope you can do that for me.

I’m sorry.

Thank you, for everything.

Louis.

The waves were crashing against each other in rage. White froth of the break hid the darkness of the water. Hills turned into mountains, with jagged edges and sharp corners. Crests cut short, livid. Some were unsure, lapping against others with no mind that they were getting bruised. They did not know what to do, could not figure it out. Aggressive waves fuelled on others to create an army. An army of furious, rip-curling waves set upon destroying tranquillity and serenity.

The noise was sudden. It bombarded Harry’s silence with a raucous clatter. It gobbled it up in one fell swoop and kept crunching loudly in Harry’s ear. The air had been draped with a thick atmosphere, a one which wrapped itself around Harry’s neck, not too tight that it hurt, yet not loose enough for it to go unnoticed.

All that he could see was tinged with a murky teal. It darkened everything, misting his eyes with dullness. Harry did not risk looking out at the sea, in fear that its appearance would be tainted and contaminated by the burning emotion behind his eyes. It was melting into his view. Drips ran into his pupils, blurring his vision. They were not tears. They were droplets of gloom.

Everything was a mess. It felt like the whole world was spinning at a hundred miles per hour and the brakes were too rusty to be yanked back. Harry was frozen in the middle of it all, perplexed. Everything was happening so fast, everything had happened so fast, and he was left trying to find his way through a labyrinth of the fast and the furious.

Harry felt like he could not breathe. The speed in which everything was moving was making his head spin and his thoughts spiral out of control. He could barely think of what his reaction to the absence was because it was buried so deeply under crumbled thoughts that used to be as high as skyscrapers. It was a complete and utter mess. It made Harry feel like he was being held under the water against his own will, and there was little chance of the vice-like grip that sunk him down loosening. His home felt like it was closing in on him. The sea’s voice was too frantic, too worried to be contained. He had to get out.

Numb, Harry leapt up and stumbled out of the van. The cold air did not slap his conscience into action, nor did it wake him up from the dream-like (or nightmare) state that he was coerced into by a few scrawled words. His bare feet slapped against the gravel as he sprinted to the only place where he would be able to breathe. He dared not to register what his expression may have been like. Would it be thunderous, upset, heartbroken, Harry did not want to know.

The sand split underneath each hard footstep. It sprayed out behind him, leaving a mass destruction upon the previously peaceful plot. He kept running and running, moving with the gradient of the sand as it darkened with dampness. He barely noticed the air around him.

Everything seemed to disintegrate around him as he approached the lapping waves. His eyes were still misty with a dousing of disarming dullness, but, somehow, the sea seemed to clear the most of it away. Without much thought, Harry pulled off his clothes, save his boxers, and staggered into the freezing water.

It hit him, and it hit him hard indeed. It shocked all of his raving senses into a state of silence. His whole body was frozen and the situation was put on hold as he took each step further into the water. His skin fought back against the numbness, but Harry knew that he needed it. He knew that he needed the sea’s help, because without it, Harry would have no clue what to do.

As expected, the water did its primary job. It entranced Harry’s heart and massaged it down to a slower beat. It curled around his neck and urged the stiffness away. It thrashed against his thighs to get his blood pumping. Its saltiness shocked him back into reality.

But best of all, it wrapped its gentle arms around his chest and held him close.

If the sea was not there, Harry thought, he would not feel just alone, he would feel ever so lonely.

Harry did not want to cry, did not want to scream and shout. Harry did not know what he wanted to do, when the sea calmly asking him how he was feeling. He just stood there, trying to let the waves burn down the fire that was yet to be extinguished all throughout his body.

Louis had left. Louis was gone. Poof. No longer there. He was halfway up the country. He was starting a brand new life, a life which had been planned for a fairly long time, and Harry was nowhere to be seen in it.

Harry could not get his head around it. It was infuriatingly simple and yet his mind made it one hundred times more complex.

Louis was gone. That was it. He was gone, and it was unlikely that he was going to come back.

Harry wanted to ask himself why he cared so much. He wanted to know why it was such a big deal. Most of all, he wanted to know why he let Louis make such a big impact on his life when he knew the outcome would only be one of a similar stature to this.

Suddenly, Harry ducked under the water. His body tried to float but he stayed securely under. He was totally immersed by the one thing which was not going anywhere. It made him feel lighter. It made him feel safe in such an unsteady situation.

He stayed under until his mind started to rattle in his head and his lungs caught fire. He burst through the water, gulping in a deal breath that would shake his bones. It was only a temporary cure for the pain that was ripping throughout his body, but it would do for the time being.

The sea was calmer after that. Its touches were soft and sympathetic (Harry was not sure if he wanted that, or pity, or anything similar, but he would take what he could get) upon his skin. It muttered things along the lines of “it’ll be alright” and “just remember where you come from” to try and help, but Harry was turning from confused to numb and nothing was going to sink in except the bitter temperature of the water.

Absently, he trailed back to his van. There, he curled into bed and forced his eyes shut. He tried not to notice the cinnamon scent or the used bowls. He tried not to let the thoughts which had figured it all out invade his head. He wanted to remain unaware so that nothing was for certain. Because then that meant that it was real, and Harry was not sure whether he was up for two juxtaposing realisations over the space of mere hours.

-|-

Later that day, after a few hours of not sleeping and a couple more of conflicting thoughts and aimless staring, Harry had one of those godforsaken realisations.

Harry realised, in a blood-curdling and gun-shot sounding moment, that he was really fucking angry.

Red bled into his vision, replacing the dreary tinge that veiled the atmosphere before. He could feel a prickling spread over the top of his shoulders and invade the pores of his neck. His ears burnt with something of a similar, dangerous colour, and the corners of his eyes twitched uncertainly. His fingers clenched into a fist and his nails dug into the flesh, holding no regards for the thin skin. His head hit off the window as he threw it back. A dull ache set upon melding itself to the bone of Harry’s skull. He growled in frustration.

Harry was fuming.

The flimsy slip of paper that was imprinted with Harry’s fingerprints lay innocently on the pillow. His fingers twitched in the urge to rip it up into little pieces until the important words were no longer shreds of disjointed sentences. Alas, Harry did still have some common sense, and so could not bring himself to destroy the last piece of Louis that was lying on his bed.

Louis. Yes, that was who Harry was angry with. Louis. The boy who had been there, but was now gone. The boy who had roped Harry in without consent and smothered him in all of his flamboyant glory. The boy who had made Harry feel something.

Harry hated him, he decided. He hated Louis’ guts for leaving him without even a mere goodbye. He hated him for lying to him. He hated him for pretending that he was going to stay. He hated him for his stupid smile and his evil blue eyes. He hated him for wangling his way into Harry’s life without even an invitation. He hated him for making an impact. 

And he hated him for being so Goddamn loveable. 

Harry understood why he did not let on that he was going to leave, he really did. But pretending that he did not understand made it easier to be angry at Louis, rather than down the path his fury seemed to be heading. Louis did not want anything to change, and that was fair enough, because it would have if Harry was told. But Harry wished he had had some kind of hint. Any type of inkling would have stopped him from getting himself into the mess that he had become, all in the space of a few hours.

If, if, if. If this, if that. So many ‘if’ questions circulated his head. If he had done something different, would Louis still be here? If he had not had a ‘realisation’, per se, the night before, would he have cared so much? What if Louis had stayed? Would he have resented Harry for it? Would they have carried on just as normal?

But there were no answers. Zilch. Zero. None at all. There never would be any answers, and the only ones that were to be conjured up would be that of a conspiracy and nothing as exact as the solid truth. The questions were useless without an answer, but they still made their bed in Harry’s mind, just for old time’s sake.

Harry’s anger was still roaring through his body. He glanced around the van, seeing remnants of Louis everywhere. Harry wanted to splash them all with acid, burn them down into a powder which he could stamp on and wash away into the sewers. The note, though, would stay untouched. Harry wanted to keep it, as if it were a curse. He wanted that curse to overpower him before it was too late, before his anger turned sideways and fell into the wrong hands. He knew that the curse would feel a lot better than what was to come.

As Harry read over the note once again, he could not help but notice his anger simmering, somewhat. It was expected that his anger would peak with every scratch of ink on the paper, but that seemed not to be the case. With every word came a splutter of water, not a puff of oxygen. It calmed down the burning flames in the centre of his chest, first, the source of the mind-decapitating feeling.

“But most of all, I just want you to be happy.”

That was when Harry realised it.

Harry realised that, no, he was not angry at Louis.

He was angry at himself.

He did not hate Louis.

He hated himself.

Because Louis had not done anything majorly wrong. Yes, maybe he had kept the truth from Harry and maybe he had left without a proper goodbye, but none of that would have mattered if Harry did not let himself get attached.

Harry was not supposed to get attached, that was the whole point of ignoring what he was feeling and not let anything but his love for the sea impact him. That realisation that maybe he had to let someone squeeze into the tiny space beside the sea should not have happened. Hell, Harry should not have even gotten so involved, anyway. It should have been left at just sex, just physical pleasures, while they were high and just looking for something to do.

It should not have been chats and heartfelt getting-to-know sessions. It should not have been helping when convenient or sick. It should not have been double-dates. It should not have been falling asleep in each other’s arms. It should not have been waking up, face to face.

But somehow, it was like that, and Harry loathed it now.

After everything that he had been through, after everyone who he loved had left him, he was sure that he had learnt his lesson. He had promised himself not to get into such a situation again, and yet it had happened.

He was weak. Harry decided that he was weak. He should not have given in. Okay, maybe he could blame it on Louis and say that it was his fault for being, well, so-Louis-y, but in the end, it was all on Harry’s shoulders. It was he who acted how he did, and it was he who felt it, too.

The surfer was not in the regretful stage just yet, the anger was still too hot to burn out into ashes, but he knew that it would come. The relationship, if it could even be called that, was not in the line of fire of his anger, he was, and so the regret that would follow would only be because of his own actions. First, though, he had to get over the fact that he had ruined the smooth serenity of his life out of pure stupidity.

Harry spent the rest of the day, and night, basking in self-annoyance. If the wind changed, his face would be constantly struck with a disgruntled expression and a frown etched deep into his skin. His eyes burnt trails on the note which he had read a grand total of twenty two times. Beers were cracked open and downed too fast to keep him close to sober. It felt good to have a controllable heat running through his body, rather than just the anger that refused to leave. His head was dizzying with the alcohol and the pack of cigarettes was running out, but Harry just kept drinking and smoking and drinking and smoking. Caspar had had to whine and moan for a good while before Harry actually noticed him; he was in too much of a daze to realise. It felt like he was in a red-tinged bubble. Everything that he could see was masked by a veil of anger. The fire still flickered in his chest.

It was only when the sky was blackened and a banging rattled the door to his van that a tiny prick demolished the bubble he had found himself in. Tempted, Harry nearly did not open the van and pretend he was asleep. Alas, the banging was incessant and Niall’s shouting and Zayn’s heavy tone along with Liam’s softer one seemed to only increase in demand every second he waited.

With an overly aggressive push of the door and an over-dramatic flop back onto his bed, Harry did not even pass a glance at Zayn, Liam, and Niall as they trailed in and closed the door behind them. Harry’s arm was over his eyes, as if not seeing them would make them disappear. The gust of air that swallowed up the thick aroma of smoke and beer in the room tried to attack Harry’s senses, but his guarding wall pushed it away. It was quiet as the three padded around, finding a place to settle. Nobody was talking. The slight awkwardness and the elephant that was well and truly in the room only added to Harry’s irritation. He just wanted to scream.

The silence lasted for too long. Evidently, nobody knew what to say. With an annoyed growl, Harry snapped, “Is there a reason that you’re here? Or are you here to just annoy the shit out of me?”

He knew he was being unfair, but his frustration had to be let out somehow, and they were the closest to be subjected to it. The wall had not exactly been the most responsive when he had ranted on persistently with disjointed sentences and anger-fuelled profanities.

“We just wanted to see how you were getting on,” Liam said softly. From his voice, Harry could tell that he was sitting by the table. Harry imagined Zayn cradled between his legs, the way his fingers would dance in the black strands of hair, the way he was nuzzle his nose into the dip of Zayn’s shoulder. Lightning struck Harry’s chest and jangled his ribs.

“I’m fine,” Harry spat, “so piss off.” He just wanted to be alone, as pathetic as that sounded, he just wanted space. He did not want to see people, see happy people who had the perfect life that they had always wished for. And he definitely did not want to see a loved-up couple who refused to take their hands off one another.

“Oi, don’t speak to him like that,” Zayn reprimanded. Harry’s fingers rolled into his palm, nails digging in.

“I’ll speak to him how I fuckin’ like,” seethed Harry. His arm was still hiding his eyes. Underneath the soft flesh, they were closed tightly shut. If he opened them, he feared that he would be betrayed by the green pools. He needed the anger. It was all he seemed to have. But his eyes did not like to tiptoe alongside him sometimes, and so he was left with trying to veil his true emotions anyway possible.

“No, you won’t,” Zayn said sternly. Harry heard the rustle of material loosening then tightening and the sound of feet hitting the floor.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” It was probably a childish retort, but Harry did not care, could not care.

“When it’s to my boyfriend and you’re acting like a childish little brat, I damn well can tell you want to do,” said Zayn, a rough anger lining his tone.

Harry flung his arm off from over his eyes and sat up, straight. He glared at Zayn, eyes narrowed and a crease etched deep in between his eyebrows. “Well I’m sorry I can’t be fine and fuckin’ dandy all the time.”

“He’s not asking you to-”

“Oh just fuck off already, Liam,” spat Harry, throwing the – then wounded – boy a dirty look. Guilt was curdling in the pit of Harry’s stomach, but the anger was coursing around his body at such a high rate that it overpowered it incredibly so. He wanted to stop, kind of, but it kept coming in streams and streams. He needed to break, like a wave or something; he had to get to the point where he would crash back down to earth again, not stay in the fiery depths of anger.

“I said, don’t fuckin’ speak to him like that,” Zayn demanded. Harry jumped up off the bed and sized up to Zayn. He stared him dead in the eye, a snarl ready to rip through his throat at any minute. He was angry. He wanted to fight.

“What’ you gunna do about it, huh?” Harry taunted. Zayn smelled of musky aftershave, smoke and flowery washing up powder. It was like passion, addiction, and love. Harry was pretty sure he smelt of beer, smoke, and salt. His was anger, frustration, and loneliness.

“Harry,” Zayn said warningly.

“No, c’mon, mate, show’us what y’got.” Harry shrugged his shoulders, beckoning Zayn to do something, anything.

“Harry, you’re pissed, don’t do-”

Harry broke. His hands pushed against Zayn’s chest, making the other boy stumble backwards with shocked, widened eyes. Harry towered over him. “Stop fuckin’ tellin’ me what I can and can’t do! I can make my own decisions; I’m not a bloody child. I have my own mind, y’know? I can decide when I want to stop and when I want to leave. I can tell people when to go, and I can handle the fuckin’ truth. I don’t need to be protected! Why does nobody fuckin’ believe that?!”

A thick silence encompassed them. Everyone’s eyes were on Harry, who was panting heavily and glaring down at the floor.

“Harry-” Liam said gently.

“Just- don’t,” Harry ordered weakly, all energy drained out of him. He stumbled back to the bed and let himself fall back onto it. He closed his eyes, and when he tried to sigh through slightly parted, pouting lips, a squeak of a whimper passed through. It was silent, again, just the sound of the rolling waves and the squawks of the seagulls that interrupted the noiseless van. Once again, nobody knew what to say. Harry’s anger had dropped down a notch or two. With the fury-filled words that flew out of his mouth, dabs of anger went, too. His chest rose and fell heavily and his heart was beating awfully fast, but his mind was clear, if only a little.

“Mate, we just want to help,” said Niall.

“I’m fine,” Harry insisted, yet it did not come across as firm as he liked because of how whiney his voice was from his slightly blocked nose. Harry tried not to think of why that was so.

“You’re not fine, H-”

Harry sat up and glared at Zayn, who had seated himself on Liam’s lap and was stroking his boyfriend’s hair affectionately. Harry wanted to throw his half empty can of beer at them. His narrowed eyes stopped Zayn short, and conveyed his annoyance and message. Thankfully, Zayn seemed to understand.

“-okay, okay. But from my point of view, you don’t look fine, you don’t sound fine, and you have every reason not to be fine.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, just— leave it, please,” Harry said quietly, picking at a loose thread. His anger was seemingly non-existent or just hiding away, and so the gateway was open for any other emotion. Apparently, a mist of tears was superior to the other emotions, and lined his eyes. There were not enough to fall, to drip down his cheeks and sink into his pores, just enough to blur his vision of slight. Harry claimed that it was just because his eyes were focused on something, concentrating on the limp thread.

“Harry,” Zayn sighed. He clambered off Liam’s lap and padded over to Harry. There, he sat quietly on the bed and pulled Harry in to rest on his side. The curly head of hair fit into the crook of his neck, and relaxed visibly as Zayn leaned them both back. Harry’s eyes closed as a soothing hand rubbed up and down his arm, up and down, up and down. Harry felt Zayn twitch next to him, and soon enough, two other bodies were perched on the bed, crowding around Harry. Strangely, Harry did not feel overwhelmed by the close presences; he did not feel enclosed by the caring faces; he felt calm.

“Weird, ain’t it?”  Niall said. Harry opened his eyes to see him looking around the place, searching for something.

“What is?” Liam asked.

“Not havin’ him ‘ere, s’like somethin’s missin’.”

Who ‘he’ was, was entirely evident. Above Harry, who had let his eyes fall shut at the comment, Zayn shot a glare at Niall. Niall gave him a ‘what?’ look back, holding up his hands in defence.

“But at least we’ve had time to, like, prepare for this, though.  I mean, it sounds dramatic talking like he’s dead when we all knew this was coming,” Liam reasoned.

Harry raised his head a little and creaked his eyes open, looking at Liam suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘we all knew this was coming’?” A furrow was well and truly etched in between his brows and a frown was pulling even harder at the corner of his lips.

“Well, y’know, we’ve had a while to get used to the thought of it and stuff,” answered Liam in confusion, looking at Harry like he was dumb.

“It’s been, like, not even twenty four hours, Liam, that’s not exactly enough time to get used to the fact someone’s just disappeared.”

Liam frowned at him, utterly confused. “I meant, like, before he went?”

“What d’you mean, before he went?” Harry asked, sitting up straighter. He chuckled breathlessly, humourlessly, as he continued to speak, “I only found out this morning when he’d gone. He wouldn’t have told you before-”

Harry stopped dead. He could feel his features fall and his skin pale by slight. Unintentionally, his emotions were playing out like a movie reel on the canvas that was his face. His expression moulded to his discomfort in the situation, the wondering, the realisation. A flame was ignited up his throat, chasing the words out before Harry could stop them. When spoken, they would be alive, and the realisation would most likely be true.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Harry said tightly. The three surrounding him looked at each other awkwardly, shooting worried glances that conveyed nothing of worth.

“We thought you knew?” Niall asked, surprisingly meekly.

Harry laughed, really laughed, yet it was not fuelled by humour in any way whatsoever. It was an empty shell that should have been filled with a fondant of happiness or a mousse of joy. Alas, this was not the case, and Harry was left with organs rattling around his body and no substance to make him feel full. He felt lonely.

“Nope, I didn’t know. I didn’t fucking know until I got a fucking note hours after he left,” he said through gritted teeth. “But apparently he cares more about you guys to actually give you some warning and say it to your fucking face.”

“Harry-” Zayn started.

“No, Zayn, it’s not fucking fair,” Harry spat.

He balled his hands up into fists and felt anger’s heavy footsteps stamp on his heart. He was angry, of course, because the others had known for ages, ages, and he had only just found out, after. They had even been able to prepare themselves, treasure each day they had with the pixie-like boy. They had been able to listen to his voice and tuck it away in the backs of their minds along with the memories that they would keep safe forever. They could do that while Harry was recklessly throwing his time away, throwing his memories away. Worst of all, they had been able to say goodbye.  But apparently Harry did not deserve that. Maybe, Harry thought, Louis did not need his goodbye. And that really fucking stung.

“I’m sure he did it thinking it was for the best, H,” Liam consoled. His eyes were warm with sympathy and rich in sincerity.

“No, he did it because he’s a fucking coward,” Harry stated angrily. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, trying to block out the raging waves in his ears that were only adding to the raucous noise in his mind. Whether they were crashing in agreement or disagreement, Harry did not care. It was noise and it added another layer onto his fury and that was all that mattered.

“Hey, don’t talk about him like that-”

“He is. He’s a pathetic coward who couldn’t even tell me face-to-face that he was pissing off to another bloody city.”

Zayn sighed. He pulled Harry in, fighting against the stiffness of Harry’s body. “Maybe he is a coward, but that doesn’t mean he cares any less for you. It just means that he was more scared-”

“Oh great, now he’s scared of me-”

“- to upset you than us. He didn’t want to hurt you, mate, so he thought that hiding it from you was the best idea. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was cowardly, but it was from the good of his heart, and that’s all that matters.”

It was quiet after that. Harry did not reply, did not know what to reply. Instead, he let the words sink in and he let the waves calm in his ears. Zayn’s soothing words seemed to do the trick. Their thick, honey-like viscosity dribbled over the aggressive, sharp angles of the waves and grounded them down to a slick bump in the miles and miles of never-ending, glistening water. Harry’s listless eyes were still closed. The secrecy of doing such a thing seemed to help impressively well. If he hid those green pools, nobody could dip into them and fish out an emotion he desperately wanted to hide.

Eventually, though, the quiet started to itch behind his ear and dig at the knots in his shoulders. There was so much to say, so much that Harry had to get out, but at the same time, he did not want to say any of it. Unfortunately, the caressing rub of Zayn’s thumb on his arm and the sighs that trickled like a waterfall over his head were enough to create a chink in his mind-to-mouth filter. The little bit of care seemed to be exaggerated by a hundred now that Louis was gone.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye, y’know?” he croaked out as he turned his head into Zayn’s neck to hide his face.

Zayn muttered his name sympathetically and pulled him up so he was on his lap. There, he brought the surfer into his arms and hugged him tightly. Harry shuddered in comfort. A light kiss of affection was pressed to the crown of his head. Two bodies shuffled closer, one hand rubbing down the knobs of his spine and another tangled in his curls.

“It’s stupid, because, like, we weren’t really anything, y’know?” he mumbled.

“You were, though,” Niall counteracted. “You have a right to be upset. I mean, I am, and I wasn’t fucking him, like, every other night.”

Harry spluttered a small laugh at Niall’s offhand comment. The atmosphere lightened slightly, enough to stop it from suffocating Harry.

“I feel so pathetic,” Harry murmured. He pulled himself from Zayn’s neck and sat up a little.

“You’re not pathetic, you’re just...grieving?”

“Griev- Liam, you arse, he’s not dead!” Zayn said, slapping Liam’s arm and shaking his head.

“I know that! I just didn’t know the word...” mumbled Liam meekly, looking down.

“Aw, babe, I still love you,” Zayn smiled. He linked his fingers with Liam’s and squeezed them together. There was this certain ‘Liam’ smile that Zayn had, and it was incredibly nauseating for anyone to see. God, Harry despised how in love they were.

“Love you, too,” Liam replied honestly.

“Uh, guys, I don’t really think this is helping,” Niall interrupted, gesturing towards Harry who was resting his forehead on Zayn’s shoulder to try and block out all the lovey-dovey stuff.

“S’alright. S’not like we were in love or anythin’,” Harry shrugged. “S’just weird not having someone like, well, like half of that,” he gestured towards ZaynAndLiam. “Guess I just got a bit too used to it.”

“I can imagine, yeah,” Liam said softly, “must be tough.”

Harry turned his head sharply to look at Liam. “I’m not heartbroken,” he stated, stern tone highly evident in his voice.

“I’m not- I didn’t say that, H,” Liam said. His voice was annoyingly calm. The anger was starting to seep back into Harry’s veins and his tolerance levels were being yanked down with every coming second.

“Good. Now, who wants to use up the last of Lo- his bottle of expensive wine that he stuffed under my bed one night to see if it would break when we- yeah, anyway, who wants to?” And, well, Harry was ostensibly turning into a teenage girl who could not even say their ex’s (was that even a title Harry could claim?) name and recite blissful memories.

“I don’t think that’s the best-”

“Look, I’m angry, I’m upset, and I’m God damn sick of the human race. So I would really appreciate it if you could just get plastered and high with me without asking any questions, alright?”

Somewhat stunned into silence, Zayn just nodded in agreement and pulled out a small baggy of one of the three things which could make him feel; drugs, alcohol, and the sea – but that was just a given. (There were four, actually, but that last one was the cause of the whole problem, so Harry refused to count it.)

And so that is what they did. They drank, they smoked, and they got as plastered as possible. Maybe it was not the same without Louis. Maybe it felt like there was something larger than life missing as Harry let his head dizzy from the joint. Maybe the conversation was steered away from a certain barista whenever it ran close, so obviously. Maybe, when Zayn turned up the radio, Harry went to pull up an invisible body and duet to the insightful lyrics of Freedom, by Wham.

And just maybe, Harry wished that his world would become Coffee Blue again.

-|-

 After that, things just kind of went. Things being life, everyday things, and padding along, neither here nor there.

The start was the hardest. The start was full of erasing typed texts and slipping his phone away with an offset to his heart. It was full of ambitious trips to Crusoe’s and trips home with his, hypothetical, tail between his legs. It was full of waiting for the last of his tabs to be pinched or smoke to be blown into his mouth, messily yet romantically at the same time.

It was full of Harry expecting Louis to be there, but he never was.

Harry hated himself for it. He loathed the fact that he would get distracted by the plumes of dancing dust in the morning air, thinking of that certain boy. Then he would hate the fact that his heart would dislodge itself from its comfortable position and sit there, awkward and heavy.

He hated the impact that Louis had had, and, yet, he basked in it, too. When he thought of Louis, there was a kaleidoscope of colours behind his eyes. Jewels of colours drifted behind his eyelids, sparkling around the edges and merging into each other. Gold amber and rose magenta glinted as they reflected in the Coffee Blue. They swirled in languid circles, swaying with each other, together, content. There was a mist of pink sprayed over the dancing gems, a one which leaked into the joins between each royal colour. Sometimes a diamond passed by, white silver pinprick on dark blue silk, cut perfectly neat with sharp cheekbones and a full, twinkling central eye that was deep within the carbon structure.

But then the edges would crack and darkness would seep into the colours. It would infect the ridges with murk and prod at the bliss until it was no longer apparent. It would overwhelm the rich, deepness of the diamond, to the point where only its tiny flicker was peeking out of the smooth background. It would turn the beautiful jewels into heavy, rusted iron plates that creaked with every twist and screamed with every turn. It would yank his eyes open and break the facade. It would bring him back to reality.

And, yeah, Harry thought he was being dramatic at times. He thought he was contradicting himself massively, what with their whole ‘thing’ having been a time where Harry had resolutely stated that it was not a, well, a thing. But it seemed to be out of his power, and he was left having to live out what was planned for him.

One bonus, as such, that came out of the whole ordeal, was that that factor which had always been his expected rock was still there. The sea. Harry had not experienced a loss, per se, alike to his mother’s and sister’s death, or Louis’ disappearance, and so he had not tested the sea’s trust. Thankfully, though, it did not let Harry down.

He spent most of his days in the sea, with the sea, surrounded by its caring whispers and hearty ‘well-done’s. He was able to sink himself under the water and let his insides scramble for air. He could take control. Of course, he could not control the sea, and it liked to make him aware of that through winding waves that knocked the air out of him and strong currents around his ankles. With the water warming ever so slightly, Harry could don his summer wetsuit. It helped him feel the water a lot more, experience the hungry waves with less restraints holding him back. In some way, Harry missed the thick suit. It made him feel safe, secure, like there was a pair of arms holding him close, tight. Harry supposed that maybe he was relating it to another pair of arms that used to hold him at the time of the heavy suit, but then he pushed that thought away.

He bumped up his work rota by advertising the lessons anywhere he could. What with it being summer, and the depths of summer approaching quicker than Harry would like to recognise, he was able to bring in more customers and busy up his schedule. Zayn said that he was just doing it to keep himself busy, to attempt to move on, possibly, but Harry neither agreed nor disagreed. Maybe he was doing it so that he was kept out of everyone’s way (everyone who looked at him with pity glazed eyes and fingertips infused with sympathy) and kept out of his mind’s constantly grumbling, but he liked to claim that he just wanted to be closer to the sea.

With more work, came more money. And with more money, came, well, nothing, really. The loss was made apparent when he realised that the only person he had to spend money on was himself. Of course, there were birthdays and anniversaries that he had to chip in for, but nothing that really meant anything. Niall was too busy going out on the lash for his birthday, and Liam was too interested in gushing about Zayn’s present to him (Harry could not remember what it was, but it was something sickly sweet with love and all too romantic). That was in the later months, though, when Harry had gotten used to the set-up (the neglected place around the campfire, the empty space in his bed, the replacement in Crusoe’s) and things were not teetering on the edge of collapse.

Sometimes, while the smoke was waltzing with the specks of dust in the air, Harry would think about ‘what if’. He would think: what if he had stayed, what if contact had been kept, what if I had moved on by now, what if he has moved on by now, what if, what if, what if.

It was usually in the dead of the night or the peak of his high when he would contemplate such thoughts. Maybe it was the delirium which unlocked the safe that held all of the meaningly (important) thoughts and ponders. In the morning, they would be securely back in their little box, cellotaped up and ready to be stored away until another night of reckless thinking.

Would Harry care if Louis had moved on? He should not, was his decision, but that did not exactly answer the question.

Would Louis care if Harry had moved on? Well, that was an entirely different question, really. Harry had been alone for quite a few years and so he had only had to really look after him himself, nobody else. With this, came an unwanted slice of selfishness. Because of that, Harry was left hating himself for wanting him to care. It was unfair of him to not want his own (lack of) feelings returned, but it was how it was. Usually, when this round of thoughts occurred, Harry was left with a little smidgen of self-hatred festering in the corners of his lips, ready to come alive with a stab of his tongue to the infected crevice.

But in the end, it was all just aimless wondering. Harry would never know the answers, and whether he wanted to know the truthful answer was another matter entirely. Louis had been gone for too long, and the unanswered questions should have been buckled away long ago.

Harry had not moped around all of the time, only for the first few weeks. He had felt somewhat numb, just there and not really doing anything. Eventually, though, he engaged with the world a little better and adjusted to the change. It did not stop him feeling that aching hole, but it was something.

As previously mentioned, there had been things for him to do. (Not everything in his life was to do with Louis during his short stay, Harry insisted.) Niall’s and Liam’s birthdays had been special occasions for them all to celebrate. Zayn and Liam had an anniversary party that was sickening. There had been surf competitions that Harry and Nick had attended, either to watch or compete.

One which Harry had been looking forward to for months and months was Boardmasters. Deep into his early teens, he had dreamed of competing in that one competition. It was the pinnacle of his year, his version of Christmas and his birthday rolled into one. Boardmasters was a big deal for him, and everybody knew it. That was why everyone would leave that weekend free, no matter what. They would all pack into Nick’s massive van and take the trip down to Newquay, high spirits galore. Stupidly enough, Harry had imagined that an extra pair of eyes would have been trained onto him as he surfed as perfectly as he could. Evidently, though, that was not the case.

Competing, though, as he had done so for the past few years, was as thrilling as he could have hoped. The nerves that swirled in his stomach were ever present, coiling in his stomach and squeezing uncomfortably. As each surfer took to the waves, his turn came ever closer. There was never that sleek, disguised, unwanted desire to back out, his determination and fixation on the flicks of the waves and the spitting froth kept his stomach anchored in the sinking sand.

His professional eyes were trained on each movement that the board, the one that would have felt like another limb to his competitor, just like Harry’s did for him, took. He judged it, sometimes fairly, sometimes not. He decided his own path before the other surfer took theirs, trying to balance out whether the difference was beneficial to him or not. He was in the zone. The zone was like an eclipse over his mind. Instead of silky black expanse, it was a murky, gutty blue. It was intoxicating, surpassing the drunken limit by an extra foot of roaring wave.

Harry was in awe of the talent, of course, and in awe of everything around him. This was it for him: this, the sea, the sand, the surfing, the people closest to him.

He came second. Second out of however many people, too many people. Second out of hoards of raw, pure expertise. Harry, a lonely boy from a small coastal town, came second.

Harry came second a lot, he thought, to a lot of things.

He was embraced in strong, human arms and given ecstatic grins as a reward. He was shoved into the sea’s mouth in a congratulatory kiss from his partner in crime, all until his lungs were on fire with happiness.

The award for winning was a bit of cash and a wooden trophy, carved by some ancient company who always made a unique design for each year. Harry had never displayed the simple, natural medals that they were awarded for competing, but with every glance that he took towards his new trophy, he could tell that he would stick it proudly on his dashboard without a second thought.

He vaguely wondered whether someone else would have been proud, but then he broke through the surface, the vice-like grip of the sea and the air streamed through the canal in his ear and froze his veins so he could no longer think, could only hear cheers of the crowd and of the waves.

The win (kind of) was just what he had needed. They stayed in Newquay for the weekend and got pissed and high and threw themselves into mosh pits until their limbs hurt with energy-drain. They slept scrunched up in the van, all bunched up bones and fast beating hearts. They woke up to the smell of grease burning in the air a few tents down, to the sound of groggy voices and mindless chatter. It had rained overnight and the ground was soggy, squelching underneath their bared feet. It was dirty and grimy and-

-and Harry felt happy. He felt full. He felt alive.

-|-

Summer was infused with autumn. Luscious green sunk into unhappy yellow. Veins on leaves bled into the blushing colouring, the reddening skin. The air turned crisp instead of a rounded warmth, sharp at the edges, especially when the sun’s eyes had barely opened. The veil of royal blue was drawn down by the moon before the sun could warm, before the burning orange tip of his tab had fizzled to the filter. Warm maroon coddled the surroundings. Rain dusted the air, mottled the windows.

With autumn came stronger waves and uncontrollable winds, rain and cancellations. Vortexes of clouds, winds, dullness hovered over the coastal town, over Harry’s van in particular.

Harry always liked autumn, liked the quietness of the season. It was not overpowering like long days of winter, nor was it anticipated like the snips of summer. It was hardly recognised, not like the cracks of eggs and fluffy feathers in spring that were praised till no ends. In some way, he felt like autumn: just passing by without much attention, without much of anything. It rolled around every year, consistent. It was warm and alive, but something always seemed to be dulled to silence in the pit, at the root. Sounded depressing, possibly, but autumn brought thoughts and with thoughts came aches.

Life was slow. Life drawled on with languid words and heavy tongues.

But life’s plodding feet were still sloshing through the shallow depths of the sea and it was still getting along just fine.

Unlike Zayn, who said through a mask of smoke that he missed the smell of the sun and the chirping of the birds, Harry was content. He was content with how things were.

Business cut down but the waves fought through. He spent most of his time helping out at Crusoe’s in between lessons or clearing out the back room in the surf shop. Nick had an extension plan due to commence at the start of November, something to do with, well, Harry had tuned out then, so he was not all too sure.

One day, late October, deep into the twenties, a group of four lads trundled into the shop. They were a mismatch of personalities and a mismatch of looks, but Harry could practically see the bond that was tied around them. Harry was not even supposed to be working then, but Nick had had a disaster with the Nalu beads order and had charged to the stockists in a complete fluster.

Said boys approached the counter: two of them – the blond ones that looked too similar upon first glance – were muttering away, another was running the pads of his fingers over the many wetsuit sleeves, and so one was left to steal Harry’s attention from the doodles he was making all over the desk.

Harry glanced up, looking through his thick eyelashes but unable to transform his bored expression into anything else. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked as the boy fiddled with some of the rounds of wax and dangling air fresheners on the desk.

“Oh, yeah,” the boy said, as if he had just gone off into a total different world. “We were wondering if we could put up a sign for our gig? Like, on the window or somewhere?”

Harry glanced at the four of them. Gathered around the counter, it was pretty obvious that they were a band. Harry guessed rock, possibly indie, or alternative, if the blue streak in the guy who was speaking to him was anything to go by. Harry had never been in a band, did not know how they worked, but he wondered what the dynamics were like in this foursome. Was the blue haired guy the leader? He wondered who the quiet one was, the one who hardly said a word, and decided that he would take his pick at the tanned one who was fingering the rubber wetsuit material. The lankier blond one was definitely the ‘womanizer’, per se, and Harry made up a story that he had fucked the other blond one’s girl just before the band’s first performance. Of course, the other blondie would have been pissed, but then he realised that the girl had sucked off half of the footie team, so. And-

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, almost wanting to smack his head because he had dipped away from reality again. “I don’t think Nick’ll mind.” Harry shrugged. Nick probably would mind, he was pernickety about those things, what with his pretentious outlook on music and all things arty, but the lads could not have been any older than Harry and the way that the green eyed blondie was looking at him (not the womanizer one, so Harry would have to amend their story when they left), he could hardly turn them down.

“Thanks, mate. Honestly, it means a lot,” the blue haired one said, pulling out a bunch of crumpled flyers from his pocket.

“I’ll stick one up at the window and leave the rest here, yeah?” Harry offered as he took the sheets.

“That’d be great, thanks, man,” the quiet one said, flashing him a smile. He was cute, in the real meaning of the word way.

“What kinda stuff do you play? Rock? Indie?” Harry asked. He grabbed some blue-tac from under the desk and shuffled up to the window, feeling four sets of eyes on him. One pair of eyes were burning into his back, he decided to ignore it.

“We do mainly covers at the moment so, like, the crowd can engage, y’know? But it’s mainly rock stuff, we’re just finding our feet,” said the blond (womanizer) one, leaning back against the desk. Harry pinned the poster up and walked back around the counter, grabbing a loose wetsuit shoe that was scattered on the floor to try and find its partner.

He nodded in appreciation, smiling, “sounds good.”

“We should probably get going, d’you know anywhere else that’ll help?” blue hair said.

“Uhm, Crusoe’s definitely will, just tell the purple haired woman with the smiley kid that I said to and she’ll let you put it up. And people at the market will help, too; it’s just off Newgent Street, up past the co-op.”

The boy smiled brightly, white teeth shining and cheeks bunching, “thanks for all your help, mate.”

“No problem, good luck with it all,” Harry said friendlily, earnestly. He glanced between the four of them, all who looked grateful, but one who looked at him with something thicker underneath that. With a nod, salute, or some kind of parting wave, the four started filing out of the shop.

Just as Harry was about to turn and find the missing shoe, the bell on the door tinkled again. He shook his curls from his face and pushed them out of his eyes with his hand. As he looked up, he saw the green eyed blond boy staring intently at him, tongue sponging his bottom lip.

“Are you gunna come along to the gig?” he asked. His voice was high, not squeaky, but not soft. He looked at Harry with wide eyes and an expectant smile. Harry took the time to scan his features, the unusually perfect nose and the apple-rounds of his cheeks high under his skin. He was god damn pretty, and that was god damn unnerving.

“When ‘bouts is it?” Harry asked. He could feel the gravel in his voice grating against the smoothness of the boy’s.

“Halloween, fancy dress for free admission,” replied the blond, a smirk brewing on his lips.

“Oh?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he answered slowly, “what do you think you’ll be?” The boy bit his plump bottom lip. Harry leaned forward.

“I don’t know. What do you want me to be?” his voice was low, deep and raspy. Harry had, apparently, taken to flirting with the unnamed band member. Well, that was new.

The boy’s footsteps were loud as they cut through the thickening atmosphere in the quiet room. He kept walking until he was leaning over the desk, face inches from Harry’s. He was all high cheekbones and smooth skin. His fringe swept over his forehead. His eyes were bright. He smelt musky yet sweet. Cocoa, sugar, nutmeg, all blended into one. Harry wanted to taste the smell.

“I’d quite like for you to be the boy I take back to my flat,” the boy murmured, his eyes locked onto Harry’s lips.

“Yeah? To do what?” whispered Harry.

The boy’s lips moved slowly and his tongue exaggerated the words. His eyes caught on Harry’s, staring dead into them. “To fuck.”

And with that, leaving Harry somewhat breathless and a shudder bouncing at the base of his spine, the boy straightened up and marched out of the shop, saying a goodbye through his smirk and sending Harry a wink. And, well, that was that.

 

Harry did end up going to the gig. Nick had decided to take on the role of choosing everyone’s costumes, which, in hindsight, was not the cleverest of ideas, but it was Halloween and they were going to get pissed and high and there was the prospect of sex, so, really, Harry could not find reason to care.

 Zayn and Liam were dressed as Peter Pan and Wendy. Liam was Wendy, because, “God, H, of course I’m going to be Peter and Liam’s  going to be Wendy, those legs were made for a dress and his arse was made for those matching knickers.”  Harry had to say, Zayn looked good in the green tights, but he could think of someone more suited to the character. The pair looked a sight, but he was sure that other people would look a lot stranger.

Like Nick, for instance, who was dressed as a Rocky Horror Show tribute. From head to toe, he was dressed as so: perched in his dark brown mop of hair was a pair of devil horns, but they were just for added effect; he had painted red over his lips and dusted sparkles over his eyelids, something which seemed worryingly familiar for him to do; a red feather boa was wrapped around his neck and dangled down his chest; his top half was barely covered with a red bodice encrusted with black lace and diamantes; his bottom was just about covered with a pair of red, skin tight, extremely short, patent leather shorts; his long, gangly legs were covered in black fishnet leggings; and finally, on his feet were a pair of kitten heels.

Harry could not even begin to describe what Nick looked like. He was...well, he was just very Nick, really.

He, on the other hand, Harry, could describe exactly what he looked like.

A twat.

He looked like an absolute twat, and yet, somehow, he still allowed Nick to dress him as-

A princess.

Harry was dressed as a princess.

A tiara was crooked in his curls, jewels glittering in the dancing club lights and strands of pink fluff getting matted in amongst the coils of his brown hair. A cloud of glitter had been blown onto his porcelain skin, making his cheekbones shimmer and his eyelids glisten. Over a pink vest of Nick’s was a chiffon baby pink dress. The capped sleeves were wonky on his shoulders and the silver, sparkling bodice was stretched over his chest. The puffed out material fell down to the top of his thighs and swished with every movement. Lou had told him that he looked like a little girl, especially when she slicked sticky lip gloss on his lips, but Harry was less insulted than he should have been. He had a pair of jeans on underneath, but the movement of the skirt and the softness of the material made him feel so God damn pretty.

It was not long until the band was performing, and, to Harry’s relief, they were actually pretty good. It was a bit odd, the whole gig happening with people bobbing around him dressed up in some of the stupidest costumes he had ever seen. The boys seemed unfazed though, actually thoroughly enjoying the randomness of it. The blue haired one, Michael, he had said, slipped on a halo that a drunken woman had thrown on stage, screaming something perverted for their age difference.

Harry had been passed drinks throughout, special Halloween ones that were sickly sweet and an unnatural colour. They had been tainted with alcohol that raced through his veins, liquid courage that helped him lose any inhibitions and forget about the fact that he was wearing a dress and was a princess.

Once the thumping beat of the drums, the twangs of the guitar strings, the consistent thrum of the bass, and the silky tones of the voices had wound down and club music was filtering in again, Harry was out of the club. His hands were palming his pockets, ready to pull out his scrunched box of cigarettes. Reaching outside, reaching the light dotted darkness that was natural and smelled of the stars, he tucked himself away into a small cove and lit up a tab. The smoke curled around the air as he blew it out slowly. With the music still vibrating the walls of the club inside and the people swimming around each other, Harry stood on the outskirts, breathing. The clatter of heels on the concrete and muffled laughter travelled around the corners of the building. Harry leant back on the wall, dragging the cigarette until smoke billowed out of his lips.

Footsteps tapped their way out of the door and arrived into his little alcove. Harry looked up from staring at the orange head of the tab, the slow whorl of the burning tobacco sinking into the amber pool, to see another pair of eyes staring back at him. Green, they were, familiar yet so unfamiliar at the same time.

“You alright?” the blond boy, who Harry had found out to be called Ashton, asked.

Harry nodded, “good show.”

“Thanks,” was the simple reply. Harry offered him a tab, but was decline with a small shake of the head and a little smile. Ashton leant again the wall, facing Harry. “I like your outfit,” he smirked, cocking his head to the side.

Harry glanced down at himself, suddenly hyper-aware of what he was wearing. That, however, did not faze him, as all his alcohol-addled brain could do was make him smirk in return and say, “well, I always thought I was secretly a princess.”

Ashton giggled, fucking giggled. His head tilted downwards and the outdoor lamps reflected in the crescents of his eyes which were not marred by his eyelashes. His fingers tangled in his hair, damp with sweat and energy, as he pushed it from his face. “I can imagine,” he tittered.

Harry feigned mock offence, holding a hand to his heart, “are you implying I come across as the effeminate type?”

Once again, Ashton laughed, this time loud enough to pierce the bubble of thumping music behind them. The atmosphere was loose and relaxed. Small talk ensued, banter that had Harry huffing a laugh and Ashton giggling. From his first impression of the drummer, Harry noticed a vast change in his demeanour. His flirty, outgoing nature must have been a flash facade, because instead of planting innuendoes every other word, he was awkward and giggly and totally different to how he was before. The high from the gig was still there, evident from his jiggling leg and constant touches to Harry’s arm and alcohol must have been lingering in his system from the slight slur to his words.

Three tabs down, the breeze getting chillier, the air between them getting thicker, they had drawn closer. Harry closed his eyes gently, breathing in the air, the atmosphere. He opened them to white dots piercing through the blackened sky. Halos of silver bled from the injected specs, mesmerising his blown pupils. The stars were out, but all Harry could see was the dulling cloud sprayed over them, misting up with every breath that fanned over his face from the boy mere inches away from him.

A pair of lips landed on his.

His lips moved with them.

A tongue swept through.

Fingers twisted in his fine curls.

Bodies drew closer.

They pulled away.

They slammed together in the confined air.

The bed was lumpy under the knobs of his spine.

The air conditioning was on too high.

Car horns blared outside.

His fingers were slick, pushing in, opening up.

His lips felt swollen.

His cock replaced his sticky fingers.

It was fast and rushed.

Sweat glossed skin.

Glassy eyes.

Too many whimpers, too many moans.

It ended with one lanky body plastered to another.

It ended with one satisfied sigh drifting to sleep.

It ended with the yanking on of trousers, suffocating.

It ended with Harry glancing outside.

It ended with a star losing its twinkle.

-|-

Auburn frosted over with a grey tinge, curling the edges with specks of glistening ice. The air grew cold and unrelenting. The waves became fierce. Their touch was ice cold with passion. It was desperate to feel Harry’s skin, desperate to make him feel its numbing fingertips. The sea roared every morning, competing with the howling wind which rattled Harry’s van’s windows.

Moods dampened with the dry air. Inside was a coven of safety from the gruelling efforts of the sky to rip the sea in two.  Couples intertwined lay by the fire, watching mind-numbing talent shows full of the complete opposite. There were gatherings, festive ones, that were full of chest warming mulled wine and the inch-gaining buttery treats of the season. Twinkling fairy lights gradually appeared in shop windows. They glinted in Harry’s tired eyes. Because with winter came Christmas.

And Harry was tired. He was tired of it, the weather, the festivities. His joints ached and his back cracked every time he stood up. Business was slow, regardless of the powerful waves from the hideous weather. Harry spent most of November and December in the sea. The sea was unpredictable in the winter time, he could never judge how wild a day it would be, how satisfying he would inevitably find it. He took advantage of its harsh whips and stinging slaps. He embraced the burn that followed after a successful surf. He loved the rawness of his skin, the feeling that his skin was on fire and only more salt water could extinguish it. It was mind-numbingly entrancing. He had nobody to share it with, just the familiar lapping of the first wave.

His friends were busy constantly, only free for snippets of chats and their usual Friday night. Niall had picked up a bird, a relationship-type one, not just a random hook-up one. Harry did not know her name, just knew that she was tanned, leggy, and majored in politics. Niall did not know shit about politics, but Harry presumed that they must have had other stuff in common for Niall to actually want to keep her, rather than just visit her the odd time to, well, fuck, basically.

Zayn and Liam were very ZaynAndLiam-y. The festive season brought out even more of their love-sick characteristics. Harry had seen too many mistletoe-kisses than he could bear to stomach. However, he did have to admit, that their bubble of love was comforting to see. They were always smiling, always happy. They embraced anything that came their way and doused it in their bliss. Whenever Harry was spending time with one half of the couple, the other would randomly appear, baring spontaneous, romantic gestures that made the apples of Liam’s cheeks flare red and the slant of Zayn’s lips soften. Harry wondered what it was like to feel that, to feel the melting of his heart in his chest when the one he loved took the time out to appreciate him, to make him feel like the most loved man on the planet. As soon as that thought arrived, it was stuffed away.

Harry never really saw Nick outside of work. Caroline was off somewhere hot with her family, who, by the way, were rich as hell. Harry supposed that maybe he had a new guy on the go, the name Greg had arisen in conversation too many times to be a coincidence. Harry never asked, though, because he knew what Nick was like. Nick was flighty, and one time push of interest could knock him off his trail and send him sprinting in the wrong direction, the complete opposite direction to who he had taken a fancy to. Harry just hoped that whoever the guy was, if it was Greg, that he was good for Nick, because there was nothing worse than having a broken heart over Christmas. (Well, there was, but Harry was used to it, so.)

Lou and Tom were rushed off their feet at Crusoe’s. Apparently with the winter came people wanting to take walks on the beach, but soon getting tired of their hair being blown all over the place and re-accommodating to the coastal cafe. Lou had also decided that she was to make her own mince pies and sell them, warmed with a round of thick cream. Obviously, with that came business, and with business came stress and little time for Harry’s little life.

The one person Harry did spend time with was Lux. With her parents running around like headless chickens half the time, she was palmed off onto her godfather. Of course, Harry was not adverse to the little girl keeping him company; he adored the life out of her. She seemed to grow up so fast, to develop into her own little personality. She was a confident and cheeky little mite, that was for sure, but Harry loved having to wangle his way out of petty situations when she had said something too smart to another kid at the soft-play. Once, he had been mistaken for her father. And, well, that got him walking his thoughts into uncharted territory. Lux and he had had an in-depth chat about his future, or, well, Harry murmuring his dreams into her ear as she plodded through her own little dreamland of a different meaning, but the interaction was still there when she subconsciously tightened her grip around his neck as the lump in his throat betrayed his voice.

That was all fine and dandy, and Harry was generally happy, but a day was looming and it hovered over him like a big, black cloud, ready for the heaviest downpour of his year. 

-|-

Death, it is like a massive wave.

It looms over you, full of strength and power. It is a dull, dark wall that is white at its peak and murky at its base. What is behind it is unknown, will only be known when you break through it, but after that there is nobody to tell. It is a personal emotion and experience that cannot be relayed to anyone but the little body that sits in your soul, that waits for its moment to swim in the sea.

It might knock you over, it might not. It can push you under when you least expect it. It can leave everyone else stunned at its force. You cannot control it, it has a mind of its own, a power of its own. Nothing that the human race attains can combat the wave. Time, place, manner, reason: none of that takes precedence with the snarling curl of the water. You cannot work out where you will end up after it. You could end up in the shallow, creeping froth of the sea. You could end up in the middle of the ocean. You could end up plastered to a rock, fingers scraping the sharp edges, hanging on, desperate.

The people on the beach just stand, watching. Their feet get engulfed by the sinking sand. Slowly, the grains take every little smidgen of faith that they had, until they are just an empty shell. They can shout and scream and yell out their hearts, but the wave is deaf and it holds no care. The wind wraps around them and tries to comfort them, but the whispers are just vacant words. Nothing can cure the aching pull at the heart. Nothing can comfort the broken abandoned.

So death is like an unforgiving wave that breaks with the hearts it takes and melds into the tears that fall.

Death is like a wave, and it drowns souls.

-|-

Harry’s board was balanced carefully on the rounded peak of the waves. In front of him, the sea faded into the night. The thread of the horizon had been smudged into the sky with the clouds’ delicate fingers. White silver stars had been pressed into the almost-black plaster-scene, the colours bleeding into each other but the brightness of the light stars being victorious. The wind was careful in his hair, swirling underneath the wet strands and blowing into his ears. He was far enough out for the waves to be unable to break and the peace to be kept.

Harry sat there, straddling his board and breathing in the clean air, and thought.

 He thought about which two stars held his heart. A little to the left, two shone brighter than the others. He decided that they were who he was looking for. He spoke to them, his words blending into the tranquil air. He told them his secrets, the same that still lingered from the past few years and the newly constructed ones from the year just past.

“I miss you.”

“I miss my sister.”

“I miss my mum.”

“I miss the old me.”

 “I need you.”

 “Why you?”

“Why me?”

“I want you to come home.”

“I want them to bring you back.”

“I want my family back.”

“I hope you’re both happy up there.”

“I hope you’re proud of me.”

“I love you more than anything.”

“I’ll never forget you.”

It was like a reel of words that kept rolling and rolling. As the secrets tumbled out of his mouth, a year of pent-up emotions rose to the surface. At first they just prickled his skin, but eventually they broke through. They pooled around the surface of his eye, glossing the black centred, green circle with a fine sheen. Gradually, the salty tears gathered on the ledge where his eyelashes arched from. They glistened, thick and black. As Harry thought about the loss, the accident which ripped his whole world apart, the tears trickled down his cheeks.

The day that his family died was the worst day he had ever experienced. He could barely remember it, yet the searing pain that he felt was violently clear. It could not be described; words could never relay the pain that he felt. Harry’s world was demolished that night, and he would never forget that.

Maybe he was pathetic or branded as ‘girly’ (because, heaven forbid, if Harry was called a girl that would be the worst thing in the world) for crying, but the ache in his chest was tugged every day, and the anniversary of his mother and sister’s death was when it was ripped at the seams. It spent all year being stitched back up, only to tear again as he remembered the hideous event.

So Harry cried. He sobbed and sobbed until his chest rattled with emptiness and his face looked red raw. He let out a year’s worth of emotion, just as he did every year on that specific night that it was. He let the comforting sea massage the exposed slits of skin and the moon loom over him with a sympathetic eye. Harry was all alone in the vastest expanse he could find. He was with the only thing that stayed with him, the only thing that would never leave. The sea was the only thing that understood, that cared, and he let himself sink into its care with only two other people in mind.

The night grew on and calmness settled back into Harry’s bones. Once he had cried out the majority of his sadness, his heart felt that little bit lighter. He was still upset, of course, but the numbness was fading and the air seemed clearer as he breathed in, filling his lungs to clear his head. He paddled his way back to the shore when he felt ready to enter reality again, well, slightly ready, at least.

Harry meandered up the beach, feet dragging in the damp, night-chilled sand. He could barely see the ground in front of him because of the darkness veil that fell so close. Because of this, his eyes were trained on the floor, and he did not spot the illuminated building that was ever approaching. The sand turned lighter and softer under his feet, yet he kept his eyes peeled for any sharp sticks or tangling seaweed. Once he reached the shower, however, his eyes immediately locked onto the shining café.

His eyebrows furrowed. It was the middle of the night, even later, in fact, and yet there was still a dim light glowing from Crusoe’s. The, supposed to be, empty and blackened interior of the shop was illuminated with an amber dew. He was sure that Lou and Tom would have locked up hours ago and so the flickering lights in the shop had no rationale in the situation.

Confused, Harry’s narrowed eyes stared accusingly at the shop while he fiddled with the knobs on the shower blindly. The, sort of, powerful water shot down onto his head, causing him to jump a little in shock. He showered quickly, letting the freezing water splatter on his pinked skin that was unveiled after peeling off half of his wetsuit. It woke him up from the daze that was still clutching to his eyelashes. After letting the salt engrained in his cells slowly trickle from his skin, Harry washed down his board and placed it carefully on the sand-dusted concrete by the café.

Cautiously, Harry padded into Crusoe’s. The door barely made a sound as he opened it, just a mere whoosh of the air rippling in its wake. The aroma of coffee and sweetness invaded his senses. It warmed his veins, the homely smell, that is, and squeezed at his heart, desperate to pump feeling back into it. Harry could feel the knots in his shoulders unwinding in the calming atmosphere, but the impending possible intrusion kept them slightly tangled at the tips. The burnt umber wood was glaringly comforting in the tense time it took for his hesitant feet to take him around the corner. The lights flickered and the system whirred, seemingly determined to make the situation horror-esque.

As he rounded the corner, the sight he saw was not one he expected, at all. A sense of déjà vu washed over Harry like the biggest wave he had ever experience, a one he would never be able to handle. In amongst the passion fruit-coloured water were bobbing emotions, balancing on the curves of the remembrance. Jupiter shaped shock bounced off Mars coloured excitement. Uncertainty curled into Mercury was plastered against Venus’ bliss. Saturn rounded confusion circled Neptune’s sadness, whilst Uranus sized frustration hovered close by.  (And affection was shaped into Pluto.) The sun was right in front of him. Harry felt like he was surfing higher than the Earth.

Hands were working the silver machines, the sound of steam blowing through the nozzle bellowing through the café. Cups clattered against each other as small hands pinched the ceramic mug from the side. The sound of sloshing liquid streaming into the mug did not calm Harry’s frantic emotions. The familiar calls of the distant waves did not either. His heart was beating hard against his ribcage, vibrations running through his bare chest with every thump.

There was a boy. A boy with chestnut brown hair, smooth and silky. A boy with tanned skin that looked too delicate to touch. A boy swaddled in comfortable cotton, soft around the edges. A boy of smaller height than he, but a curvy body that would beat any model. A boy that smelt of coffee and cinnamon. A boy that was all too familiar.

Harry’s silent presence was yet to be noticed, but the bang of the heavy door as it closed was set on rupturing it.

"We're not actually open, sorry."

The voice was like a stab to the heart. Its soft and caressing tones shot through his veins, on a rampage to ruin his, only just, calmed mood.

Harry cleared his throat in an attempt to rid of the lump that had gathered there, lodged in anxiety. His voice betrayed him, the words wavering, "yeah, I know.”

The boy turned around on his heel rapidly. His eyes were wide. His Coffee Blue eyes. Harry flinched.

“Hitch,” whispered the boy.

Louis.

His eyes roamed over Louis’ form, drinking him in. He was dressed in casual attire and looked insufferably warm and cuddly. At the same time, he still looked massively, well, fit, basically. He was just as pretty as he was before, maybe even more so. His eyes twinkled, bright, blue. His lips were rose pink, parted in surprise. His jaw was prickled with a light stubble, making him look incredibly rugged, and incredibly handsome. His skin was just shy of its usual tanned shade, but he still shone golden to Harry.

“You’re- here,” Harry said breathlessly, body drowning in bewilderment.

Louis’ features softened at Harry’s stammered words. Crinkles started creasing the corners of his eyes, wrinkling the smooth skin just a little. “Yeah, I am,” he replied with a gentle tone and the corner of his lips twisted up into a small smile.

Harry stared at him, thoughts running wild through his head and body on fire. He did not know what to do, did not know what to say. Louis was there, in front of him. The boy who had upped and left all those months ago was there, in the flesh. He was not a mirage, an oasis in the desert that was the anniversary that he dreaded every single year.

“You’re- here?” he repeated, except this time sounding more questioning and in disbelief.

Louis laughed lightly, little puffs of familiar air dropping from his curled lips. “Yeah, I’m definitely here.”

“I-” Harry’s words died on his lips as his mind spiralled in bafflement. He probably looked stupid, gawping at the boy, who he knew practically like the back of his hand, as if he were a new species of human being. Louis just looked back at him, waiting for Harry to get his head around the situation. His previous bout of shock had seemingly faded away, but Harry realised that he had probably had time to prepare for the meeting, and so his surprise was only short-lived. The other boy’s expression was not condescending or pitiful. There was a certain shade of affection pasting his cheeks.

“This is kinda ironic, isn’t it?” Louis asked, cocking his head to the side. A thread of hair tumbled from his forehead to obstruct his view. Nimble fingers plied it away, leaving a heavier smile in the wake of his hand.

As Harry spoke an ineloquent “huh?”, Louis walked quietly around the counter. The coffee machine was murmuring to itself and dripping excess globules of brown liquid. A steaming mug was cradled in between Louis’ hands. It made little noise as Louis slid it onto the counter in front of Harry, but maybe Harry just did not notice because he was trained on the tiny, proud, smile that lit up Louis’ face.

That smiled turned somewhat pained, though, as he looked up from the beverage and to Harry’s face. He shrugged, lips twisted and eyes squinted in morose, “this is just like how we first met.”

“Oh,” Harry said, body sinking. Their time together ran through his mind, from the very start to the very end, the emptiness that faded into fullness that dissolved back into emptiness again. Harry wondered if the short snippet of his life that he was watching was similar to the one his family thought of before they passed into the quiet upstairs. His heart clenched and his head flashed with dizziness.

“A lot’s changed since then, hasn’t it?” Louis asked, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. His eyes were swimming in regret.

“Yeah...” Harry’s answers were short and vacant, but everything was happening too fast for him to think of a proper answer. His mind was full of louislouislouis and mummummum and gemmagemmagemma. Nothing else could wedge its way in, especially not with the way that the sweet smelling air was starting to suffocate him. With every sniff of cinnamon sprinkled treats and bitter coffee, a memory of LouisAndHarry pushed its way into his thought track and pushed him off guard again. Everything was too much.

Louis noticed Harry’s discomfort and confusion. After six months, he could still read Harry like a book. He could see that Harry was floundering in the situation, completely caught off guard. Louis did feel some guilt for throwing his presence onto Harry with such force, so unexpectedly, but it was not like he was completely okay with the sudden meeting, either. He had planned for a casual, calm meet-up, not one that had Harry suddenly there within a second and leaving him no preparation time whatsoever. However, upon seeing the scruffy surfer and hearing the rough, low drawl of his voice, Louis had somehow relaxed inside. Everything that had happened between them had come rushing back to him, and even though things had been left unsaid and there could possibly be bad blood between them (he hoped to God that there was not), he could not help but feel like everything was back in place again.

“D’you wanna go down to the seafront?” suggested Louis. And, well, Harry did not know whether to sigh in relief, kiss the boy then and there, or slap him for being so God damn intuitive and knowing exactly what Harry needed. So, instead of those options, Harry nodded and squeaked out a meagre agreement, following Louis after a moment’s hesitation out of the shop.

Harry’s bare chest had been warmed in the café, and so the wind took advantage of stripping the pockets of his cells of the comforting temperature that they had become accustomed to. It lashed against his skin and stripped it to a pinked shade. A shiver curled at the base of his neck and caused his teeth to chatter. He could feel the cold leaking into the tight legs of the wetsuit, nibbling at his ankles with sharp fangs. His knotted hair blew in every direction, but his fingers only tangled in the coarse strands and pulled at the roots when he tried to rectify an acceptable style.

Harry, though, did instantly relax as he stepped out into the icy air. The rumples of the sand rippled with every step and the shells pressed sharp kisses to the soles of his feet. The violet pouches that hung under his eyes were soothed by the smell of the approaching sea, and the whipping of the wind strung roses under his skin. Louis’ presence was heavy and thick beside of him. Dense teal leaked into his view, marring the blackened mauve. The sound of the sea grew louder in amongst the whistling of the wind and the squashing of the sand in his ears.

They ambled through the softened sand and onto the dampened grains in silence. The coldness upped its power and the tension thickened. It did not wrap around Harry’s neck in comfort or to warm his chilling nerves (that had lurched into action a mere second after stepping outside). Instead, it was there to reprimand him for not understanding how important the situation was. It was a reminder that lay heavy between the thick muscles of his neck and dangled like a pendant over the hollow of his throat. It was jaded with impact.

Just the sound of trodden breaths trickling from lips made the sea diverge from Harry’s ears. He concentrated on the soft breathing of Louis, imagined the rise and fall of his chest in time with the ripples in the sea. The water inched closer to his feet, getting closer and closer, ready to nip at the calloused skin. So focused on Louis, he barely felt the coldness on his feet, only hearing the gasp and following hiss that Louis made. His body was slightly tilted towards the other boy, but his eyes did not stray from the calming breathing of the sea.

“Do you think that stars have meaning?” Louis asked randomly, his voice blurred around the edges and dressed in an elegant script. Harry tore his eyes away from the ribbons in the sea. He looked at Louis, eyes searching out the memories carved into the tanned skin. Doing so, he found it hard to look back. Louis’ head was tilted to the sky, his chin in line with the horizon behind him. The white light of the moon was bright in the sky and its shine cast upon the cut of Louis’ jaw.

Without a reply, Louis continued. His eyes were still skimming over the dots in the sky, and Harry’s were still trained on him. “Like, do you think that each and every one has its own story behind it? Do you think we’ll ever know? Do you think that they know they’re beautiful? That they feel as beautiful as they look? Do they know their importance? Do they know how much they mean to people? To me?”

Louis’ head was no longer tilted towards the sky. Instead of glimpsing into the mellowed navy, he was searching in the earthy green. His stare reached the high of Harry’s cheekbones and the crease of his forehead. It dropped to the scarlet chapped lips, but found comfort in the tired keyholes to Harry’s soul. Despite the two of them looking at each other, Harry would not allow Louis to breach the barrier and look into him. He would see the cusp of his emotions, but not edge any deeper. His nimble fingers would be able to weave the very tips of the strings that held Harry up, but Harry made sure that the intertwining lace could not be depicted with the familiar, yet new, sharp eyes.

Harry glanced away. The waves were rippling slowly and silently, barely moving except for the set, fluid motion that they did without recognition. They were calm, surprisingly so, and, in turn, made Harry’s blood run just that little bit thicker. They were his escape, his coven of comfort that he could rest his mind in when life dropped from a lovely slow to a tiresome rush. The sear of Louis’ eyes looking through him was tough to combat, but with the knowledge that Louis’ eyes were so soft and gentle at the best of times, Harry let the wind caress the burns.

“Why are you here, Louis?” Harry asked. His voice was raspy and thick. It did not come out harsh or spiteful, simply exhausted and confused. He kept looking out at the scene in front of him, sometimes sparing a glance upwards. For Harry was not the most artistic or creative of types, he appreciated the careful construction of the constellations above him. A vague memory passed through his brain, a one with Louis straddling the protagonist’s podium. It blurred away into the stars and the sea, but Harry remembered the slow sanguine that that moment held. It sat nicely in the pit of his stomach, in amongst the wavering confusion that pooled there in a matter of seconds after he had spotted the return of the blue eyed lad.

“I missed the stars,” was all he said.

Harry and Louis did not speak much after that, for a while, anyway. There was the sound of the sea, the sound of the wind, the sound of their breaths, but no words. Forming a word with ones lips would mean movement, and Harry was not sure whether he wanted to leave the moment that they were in.

After time, though, the silence that was encrusted on the moment was starting to wear away, and Louis could feel his heart lurching with every hitched breath of Harry’s. Slowly, silently, he moved into Harry’s little bubble. Their arms brushed against one another, Louis’ jacketed one rubbing against Harry’s bare. All that Louis could feel was Harry, all that he could see, smell, taste, was Harry. What he did not know was that the feeling was very much mutual, but Harry seemed closed down, and he could barely inch his fingers under the guard let alone enter Harry’s mind.

Unexpectedly, to the both of them, Harry spoke.

“I was sitting beside this old man, once, in the middle of the night. We weren’t talking, just looking out at the stars. I didn’t even know his name, still don’t, in fact. He told me that the more you love someone, the bigger their star will be. He said that love is what feeds the stars, makes them grow and sparkle. He told me that even if nobody else loved that person as much as you, even if nobody else could appreciate that little dime that you had fallen in love with, the amount of love that you gave them would be enough to make them the brightest star in the galaxy.

I didn’t understand when he pointed out his wife’s star, because it didn’t shine as bright as the two next to it and I was sure that he had loved her with everything that he had.  I asked him and he told me that it was all to do with perspectives. Every constellation looks different in everybody else’s eyes. Nobody can love the exact same people in the exact same way. Everybody’s love is different. It’s unique and special, and although it is just a figment of the imagination, an abstract feeling, it’s real, and it’s something to treasure. Because you’ll look back on it, look out at the world in wonder, and see that little star twinkling, and you’ll know that you’ve made an impact on the world, just by letting yourself love.

I asked him if there were enough stars in the world for everyone to love, because I didn’t think it was possible for everyone to love that much. He told me that there’s enough, always enough room for love, no matter what. That’s the one thing that’s always stuck in my head. And I didn’t believe him back then, but I think I might now.”

The salt-matted air was dense and the waves engulfed Harry’s feet, desperate to numb him back to his senses. His words had trickled out of his mouth, slow like honey. The anecdote was not planned, nor was it one that Harry had thought of much, but it had suddenly flitted to the forefront of his mind, and before he knew it, the story was tumbling into the atmosphere.

Honestly, Harry was confused. He was befuddled by the whole situation. His heart was beating steadily, but he was not sure wither it was picking up in pace to meet the whirring of his mind. With every minute that passed, it felt like, if Harry’s heart were a daisy, one of the delicate, white petals was being plucked off, leaving the mound of tiny yellow spheres, which held his only solid emotions, bare and exposed.

“I think I might, too,” said Louis, softly.

Harry turned his head to see Louis staring straight back at him, all Coffee Blue eyes and a twinge of a smile on his lips. Sincerity was laced through his features in amongst the stitching of affection at the corners of his eyes and the embroidery of understanding threaded between his top and bottom lip.

Harry smiled. His lips spread and his cheeks bunched. A dimple was prodded into his cheek and his skin flushed, pleasure stealing at the porcelain skin. The pinkness of his lips was painted with a slick coat of bliss, but they did not part for the reveal of his teeth. No, the moment did not need a grand declaration of happiness. It did not need an overly large smile that strained Harry’s skin just to hint at the bubbling in his chest. It did not need anything loud or exaggerated. It did not want the seventh wave. It just wanted the salt on its lips and the numbness in its chest.

So that is what it got.

Turning, Louis’ lips captured Harry’s. Both were chilled and dry to touch, but together they moved fluidly. The slid together, movements somewhat cautious, yet more so to savour the touch, the taste, the feel, than to squander in the unrest still present. It was oh so familiar, yet new at the same time. Within the kiss were real emotions, ones other than lust and affection.

There were emotions which scared Harry. They scared him till no ends. They made him want to tear away and dive under the waves. He wanted them to rush over him, embrace him, drown him. He wanted to stay under until his lungs and emotions burnt away. He wanted the sea to take him and the sea to be the last thing he would ever feel because at least then he would be safe.

But then he felt Louis’ fingers in his hair. He felt the soft breaths fanning over his own skin. He felt the flutter of Louis’ eyelids shake his own bones. He felt everything that Louis was feeling. And he knew that he was not alone. He knew that there were two parts to every story. There were two halves to every heart. One needed two, and two needed one. They were fused together, and needed the other to be complete.

The sun came with the moon.

The day came with the night.

The sea came with the sand.

And Harry came with Louis.

-|-

To have only one love in your life and be restricted to that singular object of affection, Harry thought was pretty unfair. Were you to give every single particle that drifted through your blood to that one thing? Surely it would overflow with that amount of love, especially if it was someone like Harry giving it out. He had waves of love crashing under his skin every second, pulsing through his veins and curling around his muscles. He did not think that all of his love would be able to be shared with only one thing or person; no, that was impossible.

Harry Styles had two loves.

One was the sea.

Two was Louis Tomlinson.

He could never rank one higher than the other. Maybe he should have been able to, but the only person who understood his love for the rolling waves was his second love, and the only one who understood his love for Louis Tomlinson was his first love. So he liked to think that they balanced each other out. He held them on an imaginary podium side by side, gleaming with pride. If one wobbled on the high pinnacle, the other would be there to take the fall. (And by that, Harry meant that if the sea let him down in the form of bad waves or bad skills on his half, Louis would be there with a hand in his curls. If Louis let him down by not being the support Harry most definitely needed (but stressed that he most definitely didn't need), the sea was there with its blue fingers firmly pressing into his skull.)

Both could wrap around him and push a small needle of tranquillity into his sorrowful heart. Both could whisper words of comfort. Both could liven his mood to a drug-like high. Both could weave uninhibited shivers through every cell in his body. Both could burst his pupils so that they leaked black oil in between the seaweed green that his eyes cradled with the utmost care. Both could catch his breath in various ways. Both could make his lips curl into a blinding smile, cracking his chapped lips with a pleasurable pain.

Both were his whole world, and he would do anything to make sure that one was always locked around his ankle, and the other was locked between his fingers.

-|-

Entrancing. Mesmerising. Unique. Exciting. Adventurous. Fascinating. Unpredictable. Whirlwind. Rush. Beautiful.

Ask Harry Styles to name the first ten words which come into his mind when he sees Louis Tomlinson and those will be his chosen ten.

-|-


End file.
